


Tug-of-War

by cherrystreet



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: All the death happens prior to the story, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Louis' POV, M/M, Mentions of Death, Pining, Slow Build, Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrystreet/pseuds/cherrystreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis' husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn't.</p><p>Soundtrack: What Would I Do Without You by Drew Holcomb and The Neighbors</p><p>---</p><p>  <a href="http://cherrystreet.tumblr.com/post/143858536002/title-tug-of-war-author-cherrystreet-previously">Tumblr</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_Age 16_ **

Louis Tomlinson met Christopher Wells in art class when he was a junior in high school. They were seated next to each other at the beginning of the semester, and in typical Louis fashion, he flicked a thick blob of red paint in Chris’ general direction, covering his fresh piece of white paper.

Chris sighed deeply and turned toward Louis. “Can I help you?” he asked, gaze steady.

Louis smirked. “I don’t know, can you?”

He snorted. “You just fucked up my art project.”

“Looks like you hadn’t done much yet. I  _ think _ I was helping you out.”

Chris raised a brow. “Hm. I think you might be right. Be right back.”

Louis opened his mouth to question what the hell that meant, but Chris stood up and went to the front of the class. He handed his nearly dripping sheet of paper to the teacher, and Louis strained to listen when Chris said, “I think of this as how my mind feels right now, you know? A little messy, but bright and room for change. Abstract, if you will.” Then, he looked over at Louis and winked. Louis wanted to smack the smug look right off his face.

He didn’t hear what the teacher said next, but he could tell it was high praise based on the way Chris waltzed back to his seat next to Louis, pep in his step, his smile strong. He slid back into his chair and waggled his eyebrows at Louis, whispering, “Guess who’s done for the rest of the period?”

Louis choked back his laugh. “You win,” he admitted, and slammed his hands down on the table in defeat.

Chris pumped his fists in the air in mock victory. “Oh, and by the way,” he said, grin still addictive, “I’m Chris Wells.”

“‘m Louis Tomlinson.”

“Good to meet you. Don’t ever fuck with my stuff again.”

And just like that, Louis was hooked.  
  
  


Louis and Christopher became inseparable friends after that, spending as much time together in school as they possibly could, and spending even  _ more _ time together outside of school. They fell into a rhythm, taking turns spending time at Louis’ house when his abundance of sisters weren’t home, and moving to Chris’ when the Tomlinson residence became too crazy. They played basketball in the driveway, video games in the basement, worked out at the gym down the road. Louis, normally resistant to letting new people in, found himself letting his guard down easily for Christopher, and loved how comfortable he felt in his presence. Even friends he’d had in his life forever couldn’t compare to Chris.

After a few months of the same routine - hop in Louis’ Civic, drive to Chris’ house, eat their weight in pizza and other garbage food, and eventually drive himself home, happy and full - Chris met Louis after their last class and bumped their shoulders together. “Lou, I can’t hang out this afternoon.”

Louis paused. “What, got a hot date?”

Chris smirked. “Nothing like that. I’ve just been totally neglecting my other friends.”

He tried to ignore the pit of jealousy stirring in the pit of his stomach. He mostly failed. “Can we hang out all together?”

“I think… That we should all get together on a different day, maybe?” He looked nervous, a bit annoyed, and finished his thought with a shrug.

Louis was unreasonably pissed. “I don’t get it. Do your friends not like me or something?”

“No. Lou. They haven’t even met you, how could they not like you?”

“Exactly my point. Let’s all hang out.”

Chris sighed in frustration. “I haven’t seen my best friend Harry outside of school in  _ weeks _ , Louis. I fucking miss the kid. I’m hanging out with him today, just me and him, and I’ll catch up with you later. Don’t make me feel bad about it.”

Louis wanted to scream. “Who the fuck is Harry?”

“If you’ve never heard me talk about Harry, you’re clearly a self-centered dick. He’s the freshman who lives next door to me. We’ve grown up together. He’s been my best friend for years.”

He nearly shook with anger; his jealousy threatened to seep out of his ears. “A fucking freshman? Are you kidding me?”

“He’s only a year younger than me, and two younger than you. Relax.”

“I  _ am _ fucking relaxed.”

Chris snorted. “Seems it.”

When Louis stormed off a minute later, he realized he may have been a bit out of line, and that his reaction was potentially  _ not _ normal. Not even slightly.

It was around that time that Louis realized he was gay, and that  _ maybe _ , he was quite possibly very in love with the boy from his art class.

(Even when the same boy made him feel like total shit a week later when Louis met Harry and they got along  _ embarrassingly _ well. Louis had to force himself to spit out the words, “Okay, I fucking love Harry, are you happy?”)

(Fuck.)  


* * *

 

**_Eight Years Later_ **

Louis was sitting in the darkness of his living room, face illuminated by the glow of the television. He wasn’t watching the program, though. A blanket was draped over the back of the couch behind him, and he reached for it, shivering. Normally, Chris would light a fire in the fireplace. This night, Louis wouldn’t let himself think about that.

From across the street, his neighbor’s home was decorated in tinsel and lights. The snow falling outside was something he would normally welcome. He bit at his bottom lip. He felt sick to his stomach.

Looking around the living room, Louis tried not to focus on the plethora of pictures of him and Chris. He couldn’t muster up the courage to put them away, smash them, ruin them, save them forever,  _ something _ other than let them sit there, staring at him. He whined, tears building up. God, he was tired of crying. He pulled the blanket up higher, hugging it close to him. If he  _ really _ tried, it still smelled like his Chris. The tears fell freely, streaking his face. “I am so  _ pissed _ at you for leaving me,” he said out loud to no one, voice breaking on the last word.

He slumped down further into the couch, hating how cold the Pennsylvania air was; it seemed to be seeping under every door and through every window, bringing a horrible chill into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and he wished he could be anywhere but there. Would he ever stop shaking?

He was plotting a way to leave everything behind in search of something to thaw his bones, thaw this foul mood that he can’t seem to escape, when a knock came at the door. Confused, he ignored it, hoping whoever was behind the door would go away. He didn’t invite anyone over for a reason.

The knock came again - louder this time - and Louis sighed loudly. He stood and wrapped the blanket around himself tightly, making his way through the darkness to the door. He braced himself for the cold as he pulled the front door open.

A young woman, probably a year or two older than Louis himself, stood in front of him, her heavy winter jacket zipped up to her chin, her eyes wide. “Mr. Tomlinson?” she asked.

He nodded. “Are you making deliveries on Christmas Eve? Is that even allowed?” It’s not what he meant to say, but it’s out before he can stop himself.

She smiled slightly, shifting on her feet. “I’m Jessie. I work for the Bernard Family of Philadelphia. Have you ever heard of us?”

Louis shook his head.  _ Please leave _ .

“My family has been breeding St. Bernard dogs for the past 45 years, and we received an unusual request from a Christopher Wells about six weeks back.”

At the mention of Chris’ name, Louis froze. “How do you know Christopher?” he stammered out.

Jessie took a deep breath. “Your husband wanted you to have this dog, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“What dog? What are you talking about?” He didn’t realized until that exact moment that an extremely large box with several holes punctured in it was sitting on the ground next to Jessie’s feet.

“There’s a letter here for you,” she said, handing an envelope to Louis, “and if you decide you don’t want the dog, there are instructions on what to do to bring him back.” She swallowed audibly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tomlinson.” She started to make her way back down the front steps into the swirling snow, when she paused and turned around. “Oh, and… Happy birthday, Louis.”

Louis was frozen in his spot. He didn’t know how to react, how to respond, so he stood there, unmoving, until the box in front of him started to shift. Soft, whimpering noises came from inside, and when he squatted down to open the flaps, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders dragged through the snow behind him.

He didn’t know much about St. Bernards. He’d heard they’re big, but he’d never seen one in person before. And when he opened the flaps to the box, he nearly shrieked with laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me, Chris?” he screamed. “This is  _ not _ a dog. This is a fucking  _ dinosaur _ .”

The puppy was sitting in the corner of the box, timid and shaking, and when Louis tried to pick him up, he laughed again, realizing this dog is bordering on too heavy to physically move.

“Unbelievable,” Louis muttered under his breath. “He leaves me a 400-pound  _ puppy _ . What a dick.”

He managed to drag the box into the house, the puppy tumbling face first inside the box from the movement, and it isn’t until they’re fully inside with the door closed behind them that Louis remembered Jessie saying something about a letter. He found it taped inside the box, and he dropped to his knees in front of the pup when he saw his name scrawled in Chris’ handwriting.

“How…” he murmured, tracing the black letters, hands shaking. He gently opened the envelope, heart racing, and he felt like he was on fire when he started reading.

_ Dear Louis, _

_ This past year has been horrible. The stress and pain and emotions that the two of us have had to go through is outrageous. I’ll take the blame, though. I’m so sorry, Lou. I never imagined this could happen. _

_ You have been an absolute dream through all these months of treatment and chemo and mood swings. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. I don’t know how to tell you how grateful I am. I just hope that you know. _

_ After talking to several doctors over the last few weeks, it’s obvious what the outcome of all of this will be. I’m scared, but I’m mostly scared for  _ you _. I think about what I would do if this situation was switched, and I know I would be an absolute nutcase. I love you so much, it aches, and I know you love me just as much. The idea of you leaving me forever is enough to break my heart, and that’s what you’re actually going through right now. How are you doing this? How are you staying as strong as you are? I want to be able to make this easier for you. I don’t want you to hurt like I know you’re going to. Christ, is it dumb to apologize again? I’m so sorry. I’m just so fucking sorry. I’m trying so hard for you, Lou, but I’m just so tired. _

_ I don’t want you to be alone for our first Christmas apart. I talked to an old friend who breeds St. Bernard puppies, and they said they would love to gift one to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to keep you as warm as I have for the past eight years. _

_ Eight years. That’s how long I’ve loved you for. It isn’t nearly enough. But in those eight years, I hope you know that I loved you with everything I had in me. I shared my small lifetime with you. Leaving you, I am satisfied, knowing I had the chance to spend my forever by your side. _

_ But Louis. You are too good to be alone. When you’re ready, find someone who makes you smile in that Louis way of yours - when your eyes crinkle and your cheeks turn red. Find someone who knows exactly what spot on your back you like to rubbed. Find someone who knows the way you like your burgers cooked and your coffee prepared, who loves your entire family, who listens to your terrible stories and pretends to be interested like I’ve been doing since we were 16 and 17 years old. (I’m kidding… Kind of.) Find someone who knows your worth… but that shouldn’t be too hard. You’re absolutely incredible, Louis. And don’t you dare hold back on my account. I had the privilege of loving you deeply for what feels like a small eternity. Give someone else that privilege. _

_ Until that person comes along, I don’t want you to be on your own. My God, I feel sick thinking about you spending your birthday and Christmas and lazy Sunday mornings alone. And that is why I’m leaving you with this sweet puppy. (I hope he’s sweet! I’m sorry if he sucks.) _

_ If you don’t want him, you can, of course, bring him back. There should be instructions inside the box on what to do with him if you decide that he isn’t for you. But I would love for you to give him a shot. I’m sure he’ll keep you company when you’re resisting everyone else. (Speaking of, call up Harry or Niall or Liam. I’m sure they would love to hear from you and be with you. Don’t shut everyone out. The world is a better place when you’re happy and making jokes and just being  _ Louis _.) _

_ Wherever you are, wherever I am, know that I am missing you like crazy. Thank you for loving me the way you did. _

___Happy birthday and Merry Christmas, Louis._  
___I love you more,_  
___Your Christopher_  
  


  
It took Louis nearly two hours until he’s able to peel himself off the floor. He couldn’t stop touching the letter, dragging his fingers across the last words Chris would ever say to him, so angry and so sad and so incoherent that his husband of merely 18 months was  _ gone _ .

And while Louis has his well-deserved break down, the puppy managed to chew a hole completely through the box and pee in nearly every room of the house.

He found the monster hiding under Louis’ bed, his bum peeking out, his tail wagging, and he can hardly believe his husband left him…  _ This _ .

Suddenly, it’s hysterical. The fact that Chris is gone, that he left him a dog, that he sent him a letter, that the dog is probably chewing on something valuable from underneath the bed… It’s all so fucking funny, Louis had to hold his stomach, he was laughing so hard.

He eventually dragged the puppy out from under the bed and gave him a long, hard look. And  _ fuck _ , if he wasn’t the cutest thing Louis had ever seen. His eyes were  _ huge _ , totally round and deep chocolate brown, and when Louis picked him up, grunting, he couldn’t stop licking Louis’ hand. His eyes welled up, which he would  _ never _ admit, and he knew he would love this dog even if he wasn’t from his late husband.

Damn it.

Still holding the dog, he walked into the living room, and flicked on lights as he went. He found his cell phone on the counter, exactly where he left it three days ago. He turned it on and found he has an endless amount of calls, texts, and voicemails. Most are a variation of  _ Happy birthday! _ but there are a few from his closest friends and family members that begged him to call them, worried, or else they’ll break into his house and check up on him that way. He knows his conversation with his mom will be a long one, so he called Harry first.

“Lou!” Harry shrieked. “Happy birthday! Christ, I was getting worried. How are you doing?”

Louis ducked his head down to look at the puppy. He smiled. “Thanks, H. I’m doing okay.” He scratched behind the pup’s ear. “Chris sent me a fucking dog.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“You heard me. He sent me a dog for my birthday. Said he didn’t want me to be alone.”

“How’d he accomplish that one?”

Louis explained the letter without going into excessive detail now that he’s finally pulled himself together, and by the end of it, Harry was in stitches.

“Niall, come listen to this,” Harry yelled.

“Oh, Niall’s there?”

“Yeah, we’re hanging out before we head in different directions for Christmas Eve dinners elsewhere. Ni! Chris got Lou a dog! And by the time it’s full grown, Louis is going to be able to  _ ride _ it!”

“Hey, screw you,” Louis spit out, pouting.

Niall laughed in the background and he could nearly see Harry’s smirk through the phone. “That was  _ hardly _ a stab at your size, Louis. What I mean is that these dogs get  _ massive _ . Like, they can get up to 260 pounds.”

Louis felt like he was just punched in the stomach. “Wow. Chris is a major asshole, huh?”

Niall laughed again and said into the phone, “Basically, yeah. Man, that’s hysterical.”

“What the fuck am I even supposed to do with him? Have I ever eluded to the fact that I wanted a dog? Ever?”

“But I bet he’s so cute,” Harry crooned.

“Well, he is,” Louis admitted. “But he’s a horse. I’m gonna have to move.”

“Okay, whatever, who cares about the house.What are you gonna name him?” Niall asked impatiently.

Louis sighed. “I don’t know. I was thinking Link, maybe?”

Harry hummed. “That’s cute, Lou. Did you get that from  _ Hairspray _ ?”

“Hey, Louis,” Niall snorted. “Could you  _ be _ any gayer?”  
  
“Ha-ha, I like musicals and Zac Efron, fuck you both. Bye.”


	2. Part I

**_Two Years Later, Present Day_ **

Louis can hear his phone going off. He knows it’s on his bed somewhere, under a blanket, or perhaps under his moose-dog that’s trying to suffocate him.

“Link. Get the fuck up,” he groans, struggling to breathe.

If possible, Link manages to get heavier.

“Move, you giant oaf,” Louis whines. “If you get up, I’ll make you eggs for breakfast.”

Nothing. The phone beeps again.

“And bacon?” Louis tries.

Link lifts his head, but his body remains on top of Louis’, unmoving.

He sighs. “Go for a walk?”

At that, Link bolts upward and runs toward the bedroom door, knocking over the standing lamp, as per usual.

“You’re a dick,” Louis says, breathing properly for the first time since waking up, and silences his phone, which is going off once more. Link stops at the doorway and stares at Louis, his big eyes sad. “Don’t give me that look. I’m sorry.”

Link takes off on his heel, and Louis can hear him moments later knock over a chair on his way to the front door. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and finally answers his buzzing phone, not bothering to see who’s calling. He knows who it is.

“‘Morning, Harry.”

“About time. Grab Link. I’m already here. Have been for like… Ten minutes.”

“Oh boy, a whole ten minutes. You might burst into flames if you have to wait any longer.”

Harry snorts. “Unbelievable that you can be so sarcastic first thing in the morning. Are you on your way?”

Louis reaches for his sweatshirt by the door, knowing there’s probably still a chill in the air. “Yeah, I’m leaving now, I’ll be there in two. Can you order me a--”

“Yeah, I’ve already got it all. Hurry up.”

He smiles. “Okay, be there soon.” He hangs up and heads out the door, only sliding in Link’s trail of drool  _ twice _ .

It’s going to be a good morning.  
  
  
  
Harry is waiting in their usual spot outside of the coffee shop down the street. He’s holding a chocolate chip muffin and a coffee for Louis, a tea for himself, and a handful of dog treats for Link. It’s been a Sunday morning ritual for over a year. Rain or shine, Harry is always there, muffin and tea in hand. He often jokes that he only shows up for Link.

Sometimes, Louis thinks that’s the truth.

“Hey, Link!” Harry yells. Link immediately perks up, tugging on his leash so hard, Louis is forced to drop it. He charges at Harry and Harry catches him in a giant hug. “I missed you, boy.”

Louis rolls his eyes and makes his way to the front of the shop. “You kiss-ass,” he says when he reaches Harry. He picks up his coffee and sips at it slowly. Hot.  _ Perfect _ . “You saw him, like, two days ago.”

“I still missed you,” Harry says to Link in between pats to his giant head, speaking as if Louis isn’t even there. “Two days is too long.”

“You’re annoying.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows and looks up at Louis, finally. “You’re into it.”

He snorts. “Hardly.”

“That’s what Nathan said last night.”

“Oh!” Louis sets down his cup. “I forgot! How was your date?”

Harry blinks at him. “Well, clearly, it didn’t go so well.”

“Why, what happened?”

He shrugs. “I dunno.” He drums his fingertips on the table. “We just didn’t click.”

Louis sips at his coffee again, wincing when Link drops to the ground underneath their table, crushing Louis’ feet in the process. He wiggles his toes to make sure they still work. So far, so good. “Didn’t Liam set you two up?”

Harry feeds a dog cookie to Link. “Yeah.”

“I’m surprised. Liam knows you pretty well. You think he’d know your type, too.”

He nods. “I think saying Liam knows me ‘pretty well’ would be quite the understatement.”

Louis silently agrees. Harry met Niall in college during his sophomore year, and Niall was quick to introduce him to his close friend, Liam, from home. They all know each other inside and out; quirks, mannerisms, and habits, both good and bad. Since college graduation, the four have remained inseparable, whenever possible.

It used to be the five of them.

Christ, Louis’ boys were absolutely _ solid _ when Christopher died. They were, for sure, hurting in their own intense ways, but they didn’t break in front of Louis. They spoiled him. He doesn’t let himself think of that time too often, though. It makes him choke up, to think about how much love he has in his life, even with Chris being gone.

It’s been a long two years, and a lot has happened. So many bad things, and so many wonderful, incredible things.

He drums his fingertips along the tabletop. “So, no more Nathan?”

Harry reaches across the table and rips off a healthy piece of Louis’ muffin, putting the whole thing into his mouth at once. “Nope,” he says, mouth full. “No more Nathan.”

Louis scoffs. “Honestly,  _ manners _ , Harold.”

He blows a puff of air out at Louis, muffin crumbs sprinkling from out of his mouth and onto the table. “I have impeccable manners.”

“I’m gonna assume Nathan was in agreement with the whole ‘no clicking’ thing,” he says, gesturing to the array of crumbs in front of him. “You’re gross.”

Harry laughs. “And you wonder why I prefer Link to you. He’s  _ nice _ to me.”

“He’s a  _ dog _ . He loves anyone who’ll rub him down.”

He puts his hand under the table and scratches behind Link’s ear. “Makes sense to me. I like people who’ll rub me down, too.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis groans. “You’re seriously disgusting.”

Harry smirks. “As if you’re any different.”

Louis slaps his hand away when he tries to reach for more of his muffin. “That’s enough out of you, Styles.” He bends down to hand another dog treat to Link and when he sits back up, his muffin is gone.  
  


* * *

  
As Louis makes his way up Liam’s front walkway, he thinks the same exact thought he has every single time he walks across the stone leading to the front door: Who would’ve thought Liam Payne would be the first to own a home, get married, and  _ reproduce _ ?

It’s been two years since he married his college sweetheart Sarah, and four months since his daughter Emma was born. She’s unbearably cute, with Liam’s eyes and Sarah’s everything else, and Louis can’t help but turn to a puddle of goo whenever she’s near.

He enters through the front door, beer in hand, and calls out, “Honey, I’m home!”

Liam appears from down the hallway with a tiny blonde baby strapped to his chest and Louis bursts out laughing. “Louis,  _ shh _ . She’s asleep.”

“I’m sorry but  _ this _ ,” he says, gesturing to Liam standing in front of him, “is a look.”

He smiles, apparently missing the sarcasm, clearly still stuck in his new dad bubble. “Thank you.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Is Sarah home?”

Liam shakes his head. “Nope, told her to go out and spend some time to herself.”

“How  _ Liam _ of you.”

“Shut up.” The baby starts to squirm from inside the carrier, and Liam kisses the top of her head, rubbing her back. Louis will never admit how much he loves this new version of Liam.  _ Ever _ . “Niall’s already here,” he whispers, now that Emma has stopped moving. “Let’s go.”

Louis follows Liam down the hallway and into the living room, pregame coverage playing on the TV.

“Hey,” Niall waves, other hand busy dipping a tortilla chip into salsa.

“Hey,” Louis says back, sitting down next to him on the couch. He points to Liam and the baby. “Did you know we were on childcare duty today?”

“ _ You’re _ not,” Liam says, sitting down in the recliner, giving him a face. “ _ I _ am.”

Niall laughs and Liam shoots him a look too. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

“That’s better,” Liam mumbles.

Louis turns to Niall. “Great atmosphere for a game, huh?”

“Okay, seriously, if you’re going to be a dick, you can just get out now,” Liam says, expression unwavering, and when Emma stirs again, he begins rubbing once more.

“I’m only teasing, Payno. I love that baby more than I love you.”

“Yeah, you’d better.” He looks down at his chest, watching his daughter still her movements, breathing growing steady. “She’s no problem, anyway. Emma’s a good girl. She’s so easy.”  
  
  
  
  
Louis is absolutely _ kicking _ himself for not getting Liam’s last statement on video, because a mere 15 minutes later, Emma decided it was her time to shine, preventing Liam from watching the entirety of the game. He’s walking around the house, close to tears himself, bouncing her, trying to feed her, and telling Louis and Niall to shut the fuck up every time they laugh hysterically at his frenzied state.

At halftime, Louis points to Liam over his shoulder and says to Niall, “Sucks to be Payno right now.”

Niall smirks. “No shit.”

“Can’t even sit down to watch a game for a couple hours.”

He hums in agreement. “Yup, that’s what happens when you have a family, I guess.”

“Apparently.”

Neither of them speak for a minute, both staring mindlessly at the TV. Eventually, Niall clears his throat. “You’ll have it one day.”

“Have what?”

He waves his hands around. “This. Husband, baby, chaos. You’ll be so good at it.”

Louis frowns. “Who said I wanted that?”

Niall shrugs. “Okay, my mistake.”

He takes a deep breath. “But what if I never get the opportunity again?”

“You will.”

“I dunno sometimes.” He reaches for his phone on the end table and scrolls mindlessly for a moment before he says, “I was so close, you know? I was married and it was so fucking great and then he had to go and die on me. Like… If you wanted a divorce, just say so. You didn’t have to  _ die, _ you drama queen.” His voice is dripping in sarcasm and Niall bursts out laughing.

“Right, that’s how I remember it, too. He  _ died _ to get away from you.” He taps his fingers on his knee. “Do you think you’re ready to date again? Like, do you ever get lonely?”

“I  _ have _ dated,” Louis says, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, avoiding Niall’s question entirely.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “One night stands with random guys from the bar doesn’t count as dating.”

“Okay, fine, I haven’t dated,  _ per se _ , but…”

“But what?”

“Ugh, I’m fucking terrified, Niall.”

Niall smiles. “Just focus on what makes you happy. It’s not as scary as you think.”

From behind them, Emma finally stops wailing, and Louis turns around to congratulate Liam on finally figuring it out, but as it turns out, she was only taking a deep breath to projectile vomit all over her father.

“Honestly, just fuck me,” Liam says out loud to no one in particular, face covered in baby throw up.

Niall is howling, slapping his knee, and Louis has tears in his eyes, and yeah, maybe he  _ is _ ready.

Maybe.  
  


* * *

  
He gets home around nine, rushing through the door to feed Link, who looks downright  _ pissed _ he took so long to get home, but all is forgiven once the food is poured into the metal bowl by the kitchen. Louis falls down onto his couch once Link is taken care of, mindlessly drawing shapes with his pointer finger onto the back cushion as he looks around the room.

His living room - and entire home, really - is decorated moderately well, considering he would live in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt for every occasion if it was socially acceptable. The throw pillows on his couch match the drapes hanging over the bay windows impeccably, the twede sectional couch frames an antique coffee table that he  _ loves _ , and the umbrella tree in the corner - a wedding gift from Harry’s parents - stands in the corner, draped in twinkly lights year round, making the room feel cozy, just like Harry’s mom had promised it would when it was delivered.

But his favorite part of the room was his least favorite just two years ago, ironically. To the left of the fireplace, a variety of picture frames are hanging, pictures of Louis and the people he loves throughout the years. Most of the photos are of Louis and Christopher in high school, with the exception of their wedding photo, and for the longest time, it hurt to even look in that direction. He can remember calling Harry about three months after the funeral, sobbing, telling Harry to come over  _ immediately _ and take them all down, because Louis physically couldn’t get himself to do it but he needed them  _ gone _ . Harry did come over, but he wouldn’t remove them from the wall. Instead, he gripped Louis’ wrists in his own and told him how beautiful his life with Chris was, even though it was hard to see at the time. Louis had slumped to the floor, nearly hyperventilating, and Harry sunk down with him, holding him and petting his hair, promising that one day, he’d be able to look at the wall without any tears and he’d be so glad Chris was still in his living room, smiling and gorgeous.

And, of course, Harry was right.

Louis often finds himself staring at the group of photos, sometimes tracing along the edges of the frames with his fingers. He loves his family photos - his sisters have grown  _ so _ much - and he smiles every time he sees the first picture he’d ever taken with Chris, Harry, Liam, and Niall. The picture from his senior prom hurts, though, and so does his wedding photo, but he could never take them down. They belong up there now, right above the hideous picture of himself and Harry from his first day of college, when Harry had  _ insisted _ he helped move Louis into his tiny dorm room. They were both sweaty from unpacking, cheeks pink, and Louis has Harry in a headlock.

He sits up, reaching for the remote control to turn on the TV, but instead, grabs his phone. He goes into his list of favorites and hits Harry’s contact, even though he had the number memorized  _ years _ ago.

Harry answers on the third ring. “What’s up?”

Louis kicks his feet up over the edge of the couch, elevated in the air. “I’m bored.”

“It’s, like, almost ten o’clock, and I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I can’t come over right now.”

“Did I  _ ask _ you to come over?”

He snorts. “I don’t know how I can help you, then.”

Louis looks back up at the pictures. “Do you remember moving me into school?”

“Your freshman year? Yeah, why?”

“I dunno.” He scratches his jaw. “Just thinking.”

“You just  _ happened _ to be thinking about an extremely nontrivial day in our friendship from almost ten years ago?”

“I changed my mind, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Harry laughs. “So sweet to me.”

“I know, I’m the greatest boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“No,  _ you _ hang up first,” he croons stupidly, crunching on something that sounds like a pretzel.

Louis hangs up first.  
  
  
  
He’s changed into pajamas and the TV is blaring some stupid movie on HBO when a text from Harry comes through. It simply reads, _Aww, love you, too_. Louis replies by sending a picture of himself flipping the camera off.  
  
  
  
And that’s the end of that.  
  


* * *

  
It’s been a long time since the four of them have been together. Liam has been crazy busy with the baby and Niall has been completely infatuated with his new girlfriend, Caroline, so it’s just short of a miracle that they’re able to all meet up, unattached, for drinks and food at a local bar downtown.

Louis gets there first, shocking himself, even, followed by Niall a few minutes later. They take a seat together at the first vacant table they see, saving seats for both Harry and Liam, and order a round of drinks for the group. The waitress is setting their glasses down in front of them when Harry and Liam walk in together.

“How did Tommo get here before us?” Liam asks, sitting down next to Louis.

“How did you manage to get here without any baby spit up on you?” Louis examines Liam’s shoulder a bit more closely. “Oh. Never mind. You didn’t manage to.”

“Perfect,” he says, rolling his shoulder, as if that’ll make the baby spit up disappear.

“Okay, we all love Emma, but disgusting,” Niall says, making a face. “Actually, that reminds of me of a funny story. Caroline told me--”

“No. We are  _ not _ talking about Caroline all night,” Louis scolds.

“But--”

“ _ No. _ For that, you can go up and order me a burger. Medium rare, please.”

He sighs, but actually does it.  
  
  
  
It’s a good night, overall. They go through three pitchers of beer, four baskets of wings - plus Louis’ burger - and Niall brings up Caroline another five times until even Harry can’t take it anymore.

“Seriously, we get it, you love her, she’s hot, it’s  _ enough, _ Niall,” he shrieks, hands up in the air.

His reaction makes Louis spit his beer out, spraying all over the table, and Harry looks way too satisfied that he was the one who caused it.

Liam pulls out his phone around 11,  _ swearing _ he isn’t calling Sarah to check on the baby even though they all know that’s a total lie, and Niall and Harry head to the bar, ordering one final round. Louis watches as a guy around his age approaches Harry, leaning in close to talk. He’s brunette, has light eyes from what Louis can tell, and his ass  _ almost _ rivals Louis’. Harry smiles, and brushes his curls out of his face. Louis rolls his eyes.  _ Typical. _

“Lou.”

Louis turns to Liam. “Emma okay?”

His smile is outrageous. “Look at this picture of her Sarah just sent me. Look. She’s sleeping.”

Louis decides he can either slam his head against the table until he goes unconscious, or he can just look at the damn picture. He chooses the latter. “Christ, she’s really cute, Payno.” It isn’t a lie.

“I know.” He looks down and swipes through more pictures, eyes lighting up. “Didn’t know I could love someone so much until she was born.”

He could make fun of Liam for it, he really could, but he doesn’t want to. “Show me another picture.”

Liam happily obliges, scrolling through an abundance of pictures that all look essentially identical, Louis thinks, but clearly aren’t based on Liam’s commentary.

He’s staring at yet another picture of Emma in the bathtub when Harry and Liam come back. Louis looks up as Harry is pocketing his phone, smirking, and Niall slaps him on the back.

It’s nice, Louis thinks, that he has these people who are so solid, even though so many changes have happened in the past few years - months, even.

Liam goes silent, then, still sliding his finger across the glass screen of his phone, and Niall answers his ringing phone, saying,“Hi, baby, I’m leaving here soon.” Louis looks across the table at Harry, who has since reached into his pocket to yank out his phone. He’s biting on his bottom lip as he types what appears to be a text.

It’s nice. Yes. Louis drums his fingers on the tabletop mindlessly.

But all of the people he would ever care to talk to are sitting right here with him, all completely preoccupied with their  _ own _ people.

He sighs. “Hey, Harry?”

Harry looks up, thumbs pausing. “Yeah?”

“Wanna go to that bar you and Chris and I used to go to?”

He looks confused. “When? Right now?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, like next weekend, maybe. It’ll be fun. And these two idiots can get back to their women,” he says, pointing at Liam and Niall.

Harry smirks. “Yeah, we can do that next weekend. Saturday?”

“Works for me.”

Niall stops talking into the phone. “Harry, don’t you have plans next weekend…” His tone makes it clear that he’s hiding something.

Louis makes a face. “What are you talking about?”

Harry puts his hands up before Niall can keep going. “Nothing. He’s talking about nothing. I’m free next weekend.”

“Okay, then.”

Niall gives Harry another look, but Harry ignores it, so Louis does, too.  
  


* * *

  
The following weekend, Harry picks Louis up to head to their favorite bar. It’s gross - what bar isn’t? - but it’s comfortable and Louis likes it there, risk of stepping on broken glass and all.

They walk into the bar together, the music from the live band somehow impossibly louder once they make their way completely inside. It’s loud, but not too crowded. The air is stale and smoke swirls around them, the scent of tobacco present and strong, and Louis coughs. He quit smoking when Chris was diagnosed, and ever since, the smell has made him nauseous. Harry must be able to notice right away that Louis is uncomfortable, because he places his hand on the small of Louis’ back and pinches lightly. Louis turns.

“Lou? Wanna leave? Go somewhere that’s nonsmoking?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah. I’m okay. Go grab a couple of drinks and I’ll go save us a spot over there, okay?” he says gesturing toward the mostly empty corner of the bar.

Harry smiles. “Okay. I can do that.”

They separate and Louis threads through a small group of people, making his way toward the only unoccupied pub table in the room. He rests his elbows on it, surveying the room. It’s a standard, typical dive bar for Philadelphia. There are several TV’s on mute with subtitles, all broadcasting different sports games, and a blinking “Bud Lite” sign hanging crookedly on the wall near the bathroom doors. A few couples are lingering near the bar, and Louis watches as a guy around his own age shamelessly flirts with a gorgeous girl with tanned skin, who is blatantly not interested.

Harry approaches a minute later, carrying two beers in each hand, and places them down on the table in front of Louis. The condensation from the bottles immediately begins to drip downward and sweat onto the coasters. Louis mindlessly peels at the label, humming along to the song that the band picks up. It’s a cover; something by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he thinks.

He downs the first beer fairly quickly, both he and Harry quiet, just happy to observe and be in each other’s company. Louis looks up and sees that Harry is already looking back, his smile a little lopsided, and Louis grins, too.

“Want me to grab us some shots?” he asks.

Harry’s smirk grows. “Sure. Pool after?” he asks, nodding at the now vacant pool table.

“Should we bet on it?”

His eyebrows quirk up. “Interesting. What are we betting on?”

Louis stands up out of his chair and stretches. “If you win, bar tab is on me for the next month.”

“And if  _ you _ win?”

Louis knows his smile is downright devilish. Harry rolls his eyes. “I get to dye your hair whatever color I want.”

Harry snorts. “And now why would I  _ ever _ allow that?”

“You have no need to be afraid if you’re confident in your pool playing abilities.” He winks playfully, and Harry groans.

“I hate you. Fine. Deal. But you’re gonna be sorry when you’re broke as shit by the end of next month. I don’t plan on just ordering drinks. I’m getting me some  _ nachos _ , too.”

Louis barks out a laugh on his way to the bar. “Doubt it,” he calls over his shoulder and saunters off to purchase shots of tequila. Once they’re added to the tab, he carries them back, balancing them in his hands, careful not to spill, and places them on the edge of the pool table, the glasses leaving circle-shaped ringlets of condensation on the wood. For a minute, Louis thinks about moving them, but upon observation, figures the owner of the bar won’t mind. The pool table has seen better days, clearly. There are dents and scratches all along the wood, patches of missing felt at either side of the table - presumably from where drunk patrons dug their cues into the surface of the table, missing the ball entirely - and one of the pockets hanging down is missing entirely. He gestures toward the missing pocket and Harry laughs.

“I mean, look where we are. Did you expect anything less?”

He smiles and shrugs, handing Harry a shot. “Bottoms up, friend.”

They take their shots together and Harry stacks the shot glasses while Louis chalks his cue. “Ladies first,” he tells Harry.

Harry walks over to the end of the table, swaying his hips so exaggeratedly when he struts that Louis can’t help but laugh, and bends down to line up his cue stick with the cue ball. The break is even and two stripes sink into two separate pockets.

“Guess that makes me solids,” Louis says, cracking his knuckles.

“It appears that way.” Harry continues to make shot after shot, three more stripes making their way into the corner pockets until he finally misses.

Christ. Louis is too poor to pay their bar tab for the next month. He can’t risk losing. Not when his bank account is on the line. He needs to take drastic measures. He’s going to have to distract Harry in order to win. And  _ fuck _ , if he doesn’t want to see his best friend sporting hot pink hair until the temporary dye fades out.

It’s time to  _ act _ .

He rolls his shoulders and lines his cue up in a way he knows looks ridiculous. His knees are bent, his arm is  _ way _ too straight, and he knows there’s absolutely no way he could ever make a shot in this position. He’s not proud of his plan, but damn it, he is  _ not _ funding Harry’s bar habits for the next 30 days.

“Hey, um, Harry? How do you shoot pool?”

Harry  _ has _ to know he isn’t serious. There’s no way Louis would make a bet if he was completely unprepared. But if Louis knows Harry - and he does - he knows that Harry will play along. He  _ always _ plays along with Louis. And Louis knows this is  _ slightly _ unfair on his part, because he’s well aware of what Harry’s type is, and he knows he’s  _ it _ . Harry’s track record shows that his preference consists of light eyes, quick wit, and a fantastic ass. He’s going to flirt. He’s going to flirt  _ hard _ .

It’s a little mean. And it’s a lot stupid. But, it’s going to give him the win. Purely by the art of distraction. And because he always gets what he wants. End of story.

Harry stares dumbly. “What.”

“I need your help.” He bites at his bottom lip and smiles.

“Why would I help you?”

Louis pretends to pout, but he can tell Harry is already giving in. “I haven’t played in years and I completely forget how to hold the cue. Just give me a quick refresher.” He purses his lips. “Let’s be real, you’re obviously going to win, seeing as I can barely hold this stick the right way. H, please.”

It’s a weak argument, and it wouldn’t make sense under any sober circumstances, but Harry must be tipsy enough that it works. “Okay. Fine.” He makes his way around to Louis’ side of the table and takes the cue from Louis’ hands. “Did you see how I was balancing it on my fingers?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, but show me anyway.”

Harry huffs out a breath but Louis can tell he’s anything but annoyed.  _ Predictable Harry Styles _ .

What he does next, however, was  _ not _ what Louis was anticipating.

Instead of demonstrating using his own hands, Harry stands behind Louis and wraps his arms around him, guiding his arms into position. Louis can feel his breath, hot and even, when he hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder. “When you push the cue forward, you want your motions to be steady. If you’re too forceful, you’re not going to have much control over your ball.” Harry moves closer in, his chest pressed up firmly against Louis’ back.

And Louis is  _ pissed _ . Somehow, he’s being bested at his own game. He’s losing focus. He needs to fight back. He arches his back a bit, his ass pushing up against Harry in all the right spots, and he feels Harry’s breath stutter out of him.  _ Better _ . “So, should I bend over, like this?” He demonstrates by bending over slightly, and Harry’s hands instantly reach out to grip at his hips.

“It’s not necessary, but if you feel like it works for you, by all means, continue.”

Louis swallows. “Feels good to me.”

Harry’s hands grip tighter. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

He can feel Harry’s muscles flexing when he inhales harshly, and then when he drags his hands up Louis’ sides, placing his hands over Louis’. _For fucks’s sake,_ _focus_. “Okay, step back, I’ll take my shot.”

Harry pauses for a moment, almost reluctantly, and steps backward, his hands slipping off of Louis’ body. “Shoot.”

Louis does. The solid red ball sinks into the left corner pocket. “How was that?”

Harry whistles. “Looks like I’m a good teacher.”

He winks. “I’ll say.” Making his way around the table, he surveys the remaining balls, and decides to go for the solid green. It sinks into the center right pocket easily. The yellow and orange follow suit, then maroon and purple. He hasn’t said anything, hasn’t looked up from the table yet, but once it’s just the 8 ball left on the patchy green felt, he knows he needs to see the look on Harry’s face.

Harry is standing there with his arms crossed, his torn Rolling Stones t-shirt riding up slightly, his brows furrowed. His facial expression is a cross between pissed, confused, amused, and  _ Harry _ .

Louis bursts out laughing. “What’s with the face, Styles?”

He looks down at his shoes, and then back up at Louis, running his fingers through his hair. “I think… I think I’ve been hustled,” he stammers out.

“I think you’re right. Corner left pocket.” He shoots and the 8 ball rolls into the corner left pocket, sinking in beautifully.

“Christ, Tomlinson.”

Louis laughs again and hangs the pool stick back up on the wall where Harry retrieved them from. He walks over to Harry slowly, making sure he’s watching Louis’ every move.

He is.

He stops just inches in front of Harry and reaches for one of his curls, tugging on one lightly. “I was originally thinking I wanted a vibrant shade of pink, but maybe teal would be nice.”

Harry smirks and reaches up to cover his hand over Louis’. “Teal, really?”

“Maybe blue. Or purple. I’m still thinking about it.”

“Please be kind.”

Louis shrugs. “We’ll see.”  
  
  
  
Three days later, Louis has Harry’s head in his sink, and the bright blue dye is staining the porcelain.  
  
  
  
It’s worth it.  
  


* * *

  
It’s been about two weeks since the night at the bar, and though Harry’s blue hair has mostly faded, Louis’ uncomfortable, squirmy feelings have  _ not _ . In ten years, Louis has never once felt an attraction to Harry. And that’s not to say he’s blind to what Harry looks like - he knows he’s beautiful - but Harry has always been his best friend, Chris’ next door neighbor, just…  _ Harry _ .

That is, until that damned night playing pool.

It sneaks up on him when he’s least expecting it. Brushing his teeth before bed, walking Link in the afternoon, watching the Phillies game… Suddenly, all he can think about is Harry pressed up against him, his muscles taught, his breathing deep and hot. And Christ, if it doesn’t make his palms a little sweaty.

He chalks it up to lack of sexual chemistry with anyone in a while. A long while. He hasn’t slept with anybody in over a year, and he hasn’t had an actual romantic connection with anyone since Chris. Louis’ comfortable with Harry. He loves Harry. And, to be honest, he misses the feel of someone touching him, kissing him…

Louis shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. Link is asleep on the floor, a puddle of drool forming on the hardwood. Louis whistles and Link opens one eye, clearly only semi-interested.

“It’s not  _ Harry _ , right, Link? It’s just the idea of someone in general?”

Link blinks slowly, then shuts his eyes closed again.

“Excuse me. I am talking to you.”

Link rolls over with a huff, and then grows still once more.

“Okay, yeah, I need to get my shit together. I’ll go out with him again, just the two of us, and if I still feel like this, maybe that’s a sign? Or maybe this was just a one time thing. Yeah, that’s it. I was a little drunk and weak and Harry was accessible and this was just a one time thing and that’s all there is to it.” Louis pulls his knees up to his chest and looks up at the TV. It’s a commercial for dog food. That reminds him, he’s almost out. He sighs. “I’ll call him in the morning. Damn it.”

Link snores loudly in response.

“Louis, get a grip. You’re talking to your dog. Again.” He blinks twice. “And now you’re talking to yourself about talking to your dog. For fucks’s sake.”

He goes to bed after that, unsuccessfully ignoring the pit in his stomach.

It has nothing to do with Harry.

Really.  
  


* * *

  
He calls Harry the next morning while he’s stirring his second cup of coffee, the spoon clanking, coffee spilling over the side of the mug.

“The band goes on at eight, I think,” Louis says, reaching for a paper towel across the counter.

“Do I know anything by them?”

“Mmm, probably not. They’re new. I don’t know much either. I just thought it would be fun. We haven’t been to a show together in years. Probably not since before Chris got sick.”

“That’s true.” Harry yawns through the phone. “Sure. Let’s go. Do you want me to call Niall and Liam up, too?”

Louis pauses and clears his throat. “Actually, uh, I was thinking it could maybe just be us two?”

“Oh?”

He panics. “Unless you want them to come! I can text them right now.”

“No, Lou, that’s fine. Want me to meet you at your place?”

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That works. I’ll be the cute one waiting by the door.”

Harry snorts. “Link, I had no idea you’d mastered how to use the phone!”

“ _ Bye _ .”  
  


* * *

 

  
Harry rolls up in his black Jeep around 7 o’clock and beeps the horn. Link immediately runs to the front door, almost knocking over Louis down completely in the process.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d nearly crushed Louis in an attempt to meet Harry at the front door.

He manages to hold Link back while he squeezes out the door, locking up, and letting the screen door slam behind him. It’s beautiful out; April in Pennsylvania is always gorgeous, and tonight is no exception. The breeze is light, it’s not yet dark, and the ground is  _ finally _ thawed from the winter.

Louis climbs into the Jeep and looks over at Harry. He looks the same as he always does. His black jeans are ripped at the knee, his suede boots are a little scuffed at the toe, his gray Harley Davidson t-shirt is rolled a bit at the sleeves, and his curls, framing his face just below his jaw, are out of control as usual. He’s dressed like he normally is: casual, comfortable, sloppy, and happy. Nothing out of the norm. Completely regular and Harry.

And Louis feels and looks the exact same as he always does, too.

He sighs and puts his hands in his lap. Maybe it  _ was _ just a one time thing.

Well. Good. That’s a relief.

Harry fiddles with the radio before he pulls out of Louis’ driveway. He’s satisfied when the first few beats to an old Britney Spears song comes on. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Really, Harry?”

Harry pulls out onto the main road and taps his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. “What have you got against Britney, Lou? Are you jealous that you’re not lucky, not a star? Are you gonna cry, cry, cry--”

“Oh my God, enough,” Louis laughs, putting his hand over Harry’s mouth. Harry nips at his palm and then licks it. “You’re disgusting!” he cries. “Worse than Link.”

Harry smirks and then his eyes go wide. “Oh, speaking of the beast.” He points behind him. “I picked up a bag of dog food earlier today. I noticed a few nights ago that you were running low.”

Louis goes silent at that. He puts his hands back on his lap and looks over at Harry. “You didn’t have to get that. It’s expensive.”

He shrugs. “You didn’t ask for a Brontosaurus. We’re a team.”

Louis nods, fighting back a grin and losing. “We are. Thank you.”

“No problem, babe. Okay, now be quiet. My solo is coming up.”

Harry belts out the final chorus to “Lucky” and Louis can’t stop smiling.  
  


* * *

  
They make it to the show just as the opening act is wrapping up. It’s a small venue - capacity probably maxed out at about 1,000 people - and it’s all general admission. The floor is packed with teens and adults alike, and Louis tries to find a spot for both he and Harry to stand.

“I’ll go grab a couple drinks if you want to save a space for us on the floor,” Harry calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bar.

“How. Where the fuck am I supposed to go?” Louis asks out loud to no one in particular. He manages to find a tight squeeze near the soundbooth, and even though no one else tries to crowd into his space, there still isn’t enough room for them to stand side-by-side.

Harry hands Louis his beer and asks, “So, do you want to stand in front or do you want me to?”

“Honestly, Harry, don’t be a dick.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll stand in back. Got it.”

Louis sips at his drink while Harry situates himself in back but before he can get another word in, the lights go out and the cheering starts. The crowd all jolts forward together at once, and Harry bumps into Louis, his beer sloshing out of the cup.

“Ah, shit, sorry,” Harry yells over the noise.

“It’s fine,” Louis yells back. Harry jerks forward again, and more beer spills out. “Okay, now it’s not fine.”

Harry smacks him on the hip with his free hand. “Shut up.”

After a few songs, the band plays one of their hits. At least, Louis assumes it’s a hit based on the reaction of the crowd. Everyone goes mental, jumping, screaming out, pushing, and once again, Louis finds himself with Harry’s front plastered to his back.

This time, though, Harry doesn’t attempt to take a step back.

And Louis doesn’t ask him to.

Instead, he pushes himself back into it, living for the way Harry’s breath hitches audibly over the band, and the way he reaches down to grip Louis’ hip, squeezing tightly.

He hadn’t realized until this very moment that he was afraid of these feelings being one-sided - if one can even call it “feelings.” Louis is still completely unsure if it’s the intimacy he craves, or if it’s actually Harry himself.

And Link was certainly no help.

He pushes himself back even further onto Harry’s front, his own hand sliding down to his hip, finding Harry’s hand. Harry laces their fingers together immediately, dipping his head down to mouth at Louis’ neck tentatively, helplessly. Louis lulls his head to the side, giving him more access, nearly desperate for it.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, squeezing Louis’ hand.

Louis forces himself to pull back and turns around to look Harry in the eyes. His gaze is firm and unwavering. Louis nearly squirms under the attention. “Is this all in my head? Is it just me?” he asks. He doesn’t elaborate.

Harry stares at him, his eyes moving across Louis’ face. “It’s not all in your head, and it's  _ definitely _ not just you.” He doesn’t offer more than that, either.

“Okay.”

Neither of them attempt to move, and Louis nearly forgets he’s surrounded by screaming, sweaty fans in a packed arena. Instead, he tries to focus on getting rid of the pounding in his chest and how dizzy he feels. He can’t even blame it on the alcohol this time. There’s no way he can pin this on one beer.

Eventually, Harry drags his thumb across Louis’ collarbone, making him shiver. “Wanna stay for the rest of the show?”

_ No _ . “Yeah.”

He nods. “Good.” Gripping Louis’ waist once again, he turns him around so they’re pressed together once more, but this time, he wraps both his arms around Louis, holding him tightly.

Louis’ sneakers are stuck to the floor, the beer and other unidentified liquids making it sticky. He has sweat dripping down his forehead. His throat is hoarse from yelling alongside the crowd.

And all he cares about is the man wrapped around him. And not just any guy.

_ It’s Harry _ .  
  


* * *

  
The show ends an hour later and they walk back to Harry’s Jeep in silence, listening to the chatter going on around them. The car ride is also quiet with the exception of the buzzing cars passing by on the highway. Louis’ window is wide open and he keeps his arm hanging out of it, letting the wind knock his hand down over and over again.

Harry pulls up in front of Louis’ house slowly, turning off the car once he’s parked next to the mailbox, Louis scrunches his brow in confusion. “What are you doing? You never get out with me.”

Harry shrugs. “I was gonna carry in Link’s food for you.”

“I can do it. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Louis looks down at his lap and smiles. “Okay.”

He waits for Harry as he unloads the enormous bag of dog food out of the trunk and they walk up the walkway together. And when Harry drops the bag to the ground, waiting for Louis to unlock the front door, Louis realizes he’s  _ nervous _ . It’s  _ Harry _ , for God’s sake.

And that’s the issue, isn’t it?

It’s Harry. His best friend. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen will most likely change the entire dynamic of their relationship and  _ fuck _ , if that doesn’t scare him.

He pulls open the screen door slowly, the familiar creaking calming his nerves, and he turns to face Harry. “Hey, thanks for coming out with me tonight.”

Harry smiles. “Thanks for asking me.”

Louis looks down and then back up, evaluating him like he did in the Jeep just hours prior. Harry’s suede shoes are damp from spilled beer, the holes in his black ripped jeans have managed to expand in size, his gray Harley Davidson t-shirt is a shade darker under his armpits, and his hair is absolutely  _ chaotic _ , flyaways taking off in every which way. He looks a mess.

He looks incredible.

“I hate your suede boots,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s smile widens. “No, you don’t.”

Louis blushes. “No, I probably don’t.”

They stand there quietly for a few moments and Louis is beginning to contemplate his next move when Harry leans in slowly. Louis breath catches in his throat. He watches Harry carefully until their faces are too close together and his eyes begin to cross. Harry gently brushes his lips against Louis’ cheek; that’s the only move he makes. And while Louis has been kissed by Harry before, it’s always in a congratulatory manner, or as a drunken greeting. It’s never been this intimate, never been shared between them and only them, like a secret.

_ Simple, but intimate. _

Harry pulls back, his eyes closed, eyelashes brushing along the top of his cheekbones. When he looks back up at Harry, his bottom lip is between his teeth and his dimple pops out before his smile manages to.

Louis feels like he can’t breathe. “Harry?”

His dimple stays put. “Lou.”

“That night at the bar. With Liam and Niall. Did you have a date planned with that guy who gave you his number?”

He shuffles his feet. “I may have.”

“Did you blow him off?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. You wanted to go out, so I called him when I got home and told him to forget it.” 

Louis swallows heavily; can’t force his mind to work and say what he’s thinking. “Wanna come by tomorrow?” Christ, his face feels so hot.

Harry looks hopeful. “For dinner or something, maybe? I can take you out?”

He nods. “Yeah. Dinner or something.”

They leave it at that, open ended and teasing, almost. And that’s what keeps Louis tossing and turning until nearly three in the morning, cheeks burning.

No. This was was  _ definitely _ not a one time thing.  
  


* * *

  
Louis wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and a swooping feeling in his stomach. He has a date. He has a date with his best friend. He has a date with his best friend Harry and he’s extremely conflicted but mostly excited.

And happy. He’s feeling pretty happy.

He forgot to close the blinds the night before and the sun is beaming in, bright and hot, unusual for April but not unwanted. He sits up and rolls his shoulders, stretching, and he sees Link peering in through the tiny opening in his doorway.

“Come on in, if you want.”

Link nudges the door open with his nose and it slams against the wall. He simply stands there, not so much as even attempting to enter the room any further.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Was that honestly necessary?”

Link barks once, twice, and saunters back away from the door. A moment later, Louis can hear him scratching at his bowl, followed by the sloshing of water. He barks for a third time.

“Okay, okay, I’m up. I’m coming. You’re lucky Harry brought you food. Otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his thought. Link barks several more times, knocking over his bowl of water even more in the process, spilling across the kitchen tiles. Louis curses and throws down the dishrag soak up the water.

After he’s ripped open the bag of food and Link is quiet - well, not necessarily quiet, because a 250-pound dog eating is never a silent event - Louis can finally replay last night over again in his head. It suddenly dawns on him that they never discussed if their plans for tonight is an actual date or not. They’ve gone out to dinner  _ plenty _ of times. Just because they got a bit handsy at a concert doesn’t mean this qualifies as a romantic outing.

“Fuck,” Louis mumbles under his breath.  _ Is it too early for alcohol? _ He glances at the clock above the stove. It reads 10:14.  _ Yup, too early. _

He pours a shot of tequila, anyway.  
  


* * *

  
Harry texts him a few hours later saying he’ll be at Louis’ house around eight, giving Louis the rest of the afternoon and early evening to psych himself up.

This is so  _ very _ unlike Louis. This isn’t typical Tomlinson behavior. Normally, he’s calm, he’s collected, he’s cool as hell. When he proposed to Chris, he did so without shaking hands or a nervous belly. When they stood up before all their friends and family, reciting their vows, he didn’t falter. Not once. Graduation, job interviews, the birth of six siblings… Piece of cake.

But this?

He’s changed four times, not knowing if the vibe of the restaurant will be casual or not. He’s styled his hair three different ways, trying to look like he’s not trying too hard, but also not like he just rolled out of bed. He’s played fetch with Link, walked him, brushed his fur, brushed his  _ teeth _ … Just to keep his hands and mind occupied.

Oh, and he’s had two more rounds of self-served tequila shots.

It’s because he isn’t certain. He doesn’t know the outcome. He has absolutely no inkling as to what could happen, tonight and in the future. And he doesn’t know where Harry stands. Hell, he doesn’t even know where  _ he _ stands.

Louis is changing his shirt for the now  _ fifth _ time when he hears Harry pull up the driveway exactly one minute before 8 o’clock. He stalls in front of his mirror, waiting for the beep of the horn, but instead, the car goes silent. Several moments later, he hears the telltale sign of the screen door creaking open, followed by several harsh knocks against the wood of the front door.

The only time Harry has ever showed up at the front door is when he’s coming over to hang out inside, never if he was taking Louis out somewhere.  _ This is date material. _

Okay. Date.

Louis pulls open the front door to a casually dressed Harry. His skinny jeans don’t have any holes in them, but his boots are worn like always and his shirt is something Louis has seen about 100 times.

Okay. Not a date?

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says smiling briefly. “You look nice.”

Louis self consciously touches the nape of his neck, holding down the piece of hair he knows is still sticking out. “Thanks.” He doesn’t know what else to say, so he gestures at Harry and says, “So do you.”

Harry furrows his brow and blushes. “I probably looked better before I got on the road. I was drinking water on my way over here and I hit a pothole and the water went everywhere and my sweater got soaked and this was the only thing I had in my car…” He’s rambling and that’s when Louis realizes: Harry is nervous, too.

_ Date _ .

It shouldn’t make him feel better, that Harry is equally as out of sorts, but God, it does. Louis reaches out and touches Harry’s hand, instantly silencing him. “You look good. I promise. Really good.” It’s the truth.

Harry’s smile is genuine this time. It’s deep rooted and that  _ fucking _ dimple. Louis has clearly been oblivious for the past decade because now, it’s all he can do to not reach up and trace over it with his finger. Christ.

“Okay, are you ready, then? Link is all set?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Believe me, he’s set for a _ while _ .”

Harry shrugs. “I made reservations, so let’s go.”

As Harry starts making his way down the walkway to the Jeep, Louis has to look down and take a deep breath. He can’t remember the last time someone made reservations for him. It’s  _ so _ sweet, that Harry is obviously going out of his way to try to impress Louis. He can’t believe it, really.

And when Louis looks back up, there stands Harry, holding the passenger door open for Louis to climb in, blush creeping back up his neck and onto his cheeks.

The rest of the date could be an honest to God absolute disaster and Louis will still consider it the best one he’s had in  _ years _ .  
  


* * *

  
They arrive at a restaurant downtown that Louis has never been to before. It’s in the center of the city, sporting candle sconces on the brick exterior and through the windows, Louis can see thick, wooden floorboards throughout the interior of the building. They’re surrounded by crowds of noisy, happy people enjoying their own Saturday night, and the energy is contagious. Louis is impressed that Harry was able to find a place to dine that is as fun as it is intimate, and it must show on his face because Harry smirks.

“You ready?” he asks.

Louis nods. “Let’s do it.”

They enter the restaurant, Harry guiding Louis with his hand on the small of his back, and they stop at the hostess stand.

“Good evening,” a woman with bright red hair greets them.

Harry smiles. “Hi, table for two? Under the name Styles.”

She looks down at the list of names in front of her. “Excellent, you can follow me this way.” She takes them to the back of the restaurant and Louis is prepared to sit down at the secluded booth to the left, but the hostess takes a turn and starts climbing a set of stairs. Confused, Louis looks up at Harry.

Harry raises a brow. “She told us to follow.”

“Okay…”

They make their way up a flight of stairs, followed by another, followed by  _ another _ , and Louis is only growing more perplexed by the minute. But when the reach the top, Louis finds himself standing on the restaurant’s rooftop and it nearly takes his breath away. There are only a handful of tables, even less patrons, and a secluded bar. There are twinkly lights hanging from every inch of the trellis, a firepit off to the side of the roof, and while their surroundings are beautiful, it’s what’s just beyond them that Louis can’t tear his eyes away from. The city is positively glowing, somehow both bright and dim, and Louis suddenly feels very, very small.

He turns to Harry, feeling stupid for being unable to come up with any words to adequately describe what’s running through his mind right now, and Harry clearly takes pity.

“It’s a lot, I know, but I’ve wanted to come here for months, and I thought you would like it.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you?”

Louis throws back his head and laughs. “Harry, you’re absolutely insane. This is…”

“Gentlemen?” The hostess interrupts him, gesturing toward the empty table for two. They take their seats, thanking the hostess and they watch her make her way back down the stairs.

Louis sits back in his chair. “Harry, this is  _ really _ nice,” he says quietly.

Harry smiles and runs his hand through his hair. “Would have been nicer in the sweater I had on before.”

He rolls his eyes. “I really don’t think the sweater would have made much of a difference, H.”

“Good, then I don’t have to dress up for you ever again.”

“Aw, you dressed up for  _ me _ ?”

Harry sticks out his tongue.  _ Mature _ . “Yeah, well,  _ you _ dressed up for  _ me _ .”

Louis looks down at himself, touching the soft material of his shirt. He changed so many times before Harry arrived that he doesn’t even remember what he’s wearing. “This ol’ thing? Nah. I wouldn’t dress up for you.”

Harry sips at his glass of water, skimming over the menu. He doesn’t look up when he says, “You don’t need to. You always look amazing. Honestly. It drives me crazy.”

He reaches for his own glass of water. Clearing his throat, he takes several large sips of water. One day, Harry won’t fluster the hell out of him.

Today is not that day, apparently.  
  
  
  
They order their meals, order some drinks, and eventually, once they're finished, move over to the bar. And Louis wants to punch himself for getting so worked up over this entire thing. Everything feels exactly the same as it typically does, with the exception of Harry flirting more than usual and keeping his hand on Louis’ thigh.

It’s still a little off-putting that this all works so easily, though. It shouldn’t be so simple to go from best friends on a Friday to… whatever  _ this _ is by Saturday.

He has four drinks in him when he asks. “Harry? How is this… Why is this… This seems very simple. And I’m not entirely sure how that’s possible.”

Harry sets down his drink. “What? You and me?”

The way he says  _ you and me _ sounds so natural, like it’s always been that way. “Yeah. You and me.” He loves the way it sounds rolling off his own tongue.

Harry slides his hand back up Louis’ thigh, squeezing, reassuring. “I think, um, probably, because I’ve been waiting for you to catch up to me.”

Louis looks up at Harry. That’s not what he’d expected him to say  _ at all _ . When he’d played this potential conversation over in his head earlier in the day, he’d thought of this as a possibility, a possibility that Harry  _ had _ been interested all along and Louis had just been blind to it. But he never honestly thought that was really the case. He’s a bit taken back by it. A bit overwhelmed, a bit flattered, and extremely pleased. “Really?” he manages to squeak out.

Harry nods slowly, his lips pursed together. “Is that okay?”

Louis’ smile takes over his face lazily. Probably from the drinks. Probably not, though. “Yeah, babe, that’s okay.” Harry’s smile is bright and his dimple pops out again. This time, Louis doesn’t stop himself from dragging his finger across it. Harry blinks, his movements languid.

He drops his hand from Harry’s face and reaches for his drink again, holding it up. “Cheers.”

Harry holds up his drink, too, and they clink them together. “Cheers, Lou.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Louis taps his fingers against the bar top. “How long?”

He sighs and smiles again. “Long enough.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Mhmm.”

“Not even if I get a few more drinks in you?”

Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Nope.”

“You’ll tell me eventually, right?”

“Probably not.”

Louis looks up at him through his lashes. “Harry.”

“Probably.”

They say cheers again.  
  


* * *

  
Harry pulls into Louis’ driveway just before midnight. The owl that lives in his backyard is awake and noisy, hooting every few moments. It stops, though, when Louis slams the Jeep door shut behind him.

They walk up the walkway together; it’s not the first time they’ve made this walk, but it certainly feels brand new. Louis looks over at Harry, and Harry looks back.

“What?” he asks, amused.

“Nothing,” Louis replies with a smirk.

“Alrighty, then.”

“Okay.”

“Good talk.”

They reach the front door and they’re both still smiling. It’s ridiculous; Louis feels like he’s sneaking around with the new kid at school behind his parents’ back  _ way _ after curfew. He feels way too giddy for this to be normal.  _ Ridiculous _ .

He leans up against the side of the house, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. “Thanks for dinner, H.”

Harry smiles and nods, taking a step in closer. “You’re welcome.”

“Would you wanna maybe do it again later this week?”

“Yes.” His answer is so quick, Louis can’t help but laugh, and Harry turns a scarlet shade of red.

“I’m glad you’re as excited about it as I am,” Louis says, looking up to meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry steps in even closer, his eyes glued to Louis’ lips. “I’m happy it’s mutual, then,” he murmurs.

Louis swallows and forces himself to ask, “Are you gonna kiss me?”

Harry still can’t make eye contact. “Yeah, I’m gonna, before I lose my nerve.”

“You have to work up a nerve to kiss me?”

He finally looks up at that. “Do you have any idea how  _ nervous _ you make me?”

Louis smiles, because  _ yes _ , he gets that. He forces his hands to do something -  _ anything _ \- and grips Harry’s hips. Harry’s lips are parted, his breathing heavy, and Louis wonders if Harry can feel his fingers trembling against his sides. He pulls Harry in closer and he goes easily, leaning in slowly, his own hands coming up to frame Louis’ jaw, and  _ finally _ , their lips meet.

It’s soft, like they’re both unsure, and they move slowly at first, introducing themselves to one another. Harry slides his hands into Louis’ hair and Louis lets his hands slide to the small of Harry’s back, digging his fingertips in. And all the gentleness is gone.

He opens his mouth more for Harry, and Harry immediately takes advantage, sliding his tongue in, pressing his body closer to Louis’. Louis thinks he tastes like the wine they had, a bit like the chocolate cake, and something else he can’t place. Maybe it’s just Harry.

Their movements become a bit more frantic, too frantic for a first kiss, but Louis can’t pace himself. He thinks this must be a steady buildup of knowing someone for over a decade, all spilling out into one single kiss. He allows it to happen. He encourages it.

The kiss is still bruising when Harry pulls away, nipping at Louis’ bottom lip, then working his way down his throat and kissing him at his collarbone. Louis idly wonders what the high pitched noise he can hear is. He embarrassingly realizes it’s himself.

Harry kisses his way back up and lands on Louis’ lips again, less intense, almost more familiar. Louis slows his own motions when he drags his hands up to Harry’s hair, burrowing his fingers in, then dragging his fingertips down Harry’s chest.

He pulls back and kisses Louis softly on the lips one final time and presses his forehead to Louis’. “Lou,” he says, his voice rough.

Their chests are still pressed together completely, Harry’s legs bracketing Louis’ entire body. Louis leans back so he can see Harry’s face in the dim light of the moon and the neighbor’s yard. His cheeks are flushed and his bottom lip is swollen. Louis drags his hands across his own face. “Harry.” He doesn’t have anything else to say, and he knows Harry isn’t expecting anything more.

Harry leans in one more time to kiss him, even softer than the very first one, and when he pulls away, he brushes his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” he whispers back.

He watches Harry make his way to the Jeep and smiles when Harry honks the horn just before he’s out of sight.

Link is waiting at the door when he walks in, and Louis barely gets in a greeting before his phone goes off in his pocket. It’s Harry.

“Miss me already?” he asks in lieu of a normal greeting.

Harry chuckles. “I do.”

“What happened to calling me first thing in the morning?”

“It  _ is _ first thing in the morning.”

Louis looks at the clock under the TV. It’s 12:17 AM. He rolls his eyes. It’s so fucking childish, but Christ, he’s so endeared, he feels like he could drown in it. “Couldn’t wait until the  _ real _ morning?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the  _ p _ .

Louis kicks off his shoes and undoes his belt, balancing his phone on his shoulder. “Coming on a little strong, don’t you think, Styles?”

He can nearly hear Harry’s smile over the phone. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Louis. Just say it. You miss me already, too.”

“Nah.”

“Come on, don’t lie.”

He wanders into his bathroom, turning on the light, and he looks in the mirror. His cheeks are blotchy, he has a bruise already forming on his neck where Harry got a little carried away, and his hair is flying in about a hundred different directions. He smiles. “Maybe a little, I guess.”

“Ah, babe, those are the words I’ve been  _ dreaming _ of.”

His smile grows. He knows he won’t be getting much sleep tonight.  
  
  
  
The next morning, Louis practically skips to the coffee shop, trying and failing to get rid of the nervousness in his stomach. When Harry hands him his coffee, smile playing lazily over his face, he murmurs, “‘morning. You look amazing.”

The butterflies kick up even more and Louis is completely done for.

He’s okay with that.  
  


* * *

  
It’s been three weeks, and somehow, everything changes and nothing changes.

They still go out on the weekends with Niall and Liam, they still meet up after work for drinks, they still take Link to the coffee shop every Sunday morning, they still order greasy pizza and lounge on the couch, eating directly out of the box, going through a 6-pack easily, burping and wiping their hands on their jeans. Harry still tells Louis he’s a major pain in the ass; Louis still replies with, “At least I have one.”

Their friendship doesn’t change and Louis is unbearably relieved for that.

But now, after they meet up with Niall and Liam, they go home together and Harry gets his mouth on Louis’ the second they get through the door. Now, when they go out for drinks, Louis hops off his barstool and slips in between Harry’s legs where he’s perched on his own stool, and Louis squeezes Harry’s thighs, making Harry’s breath hitch. Now, when they’re at the coffee shop, Louis sips at his tea and when he catches Harry staring at him, Harry will shift his gaze and say, “You’re gorgeous, you know?” Now, when they eat dinner on the couch, it often leads to Louis climbing on top of Harry, tipsy, Harry squeezing Louis’ ass, grinding against each other until they’re both gripping at body parts with wandering hands.

But there hasn’t been sex yet. Louis finds himself at work  _ obsessing _ over it; he knows Harry wants to, and my  _ God _ , he wants to, too. And it’s not like they haven’t had the opportunity to. Most nights, he has to push Harry off of him and shove him out the door. There’s just a little something that’s holding him back, and  _ that’s _ the part he can’t stop thinking about.

He’s had sex since Chris died. Three one-night-stands, one friend with benefits, and one drunken mistake with a friend from college that he’s desperately tried to erase from his brain. So it’s not necessarily the actual physical act that he’s worried about.

More or less, what’s eating at him is knowing that sex with Harry is the sex he’s going to be having for the rest of his life, most likely. He’s not in love with Harry - not yet, anyway - and he’s not sure where Harry stands, but he’s not oblivious to the fact that this isn’t a casual thing. This has been building silently for years, and with the way they’re headed, Louis can tell that this is a permanent situation. The intensity of it… It’s scary, it’s calming; Louis is a mess.

Sex seals the deal. It makes it very,  _ very _ final. And he’s not sure if he’s ready for that.

It’s the first week of May and on a sunny Saturday morning, and Harry calls Louis, suggesting they take Link to the lake for the afternoon. Louis obliges instantly, packing water, food, and toys for Link, only to realize once they were halfway to their destination that he didn’t pack anything for himself  _ or _ Harry.

Harry winks and points to the cooler behind him, which Louis somehow missed until right now. “Got you covered, babe.”

Louis leans across the center console to peek inside. Sandwiches, chips, and beer. “Gang’s all here,” he says.

Harry laughs from the passenger seat and puts his right hand on Louis’ thigh.

Louis lets him.  
  
  
  
There aren’t that many people on the beach, so Louis doesn’t feel too bad about unleashing Link and letting him run free through the sand and into the water. He plays fetch with him for a while, hoping to tire him out so he’ll snooze on the way home instead of trying to climb onto his lap like he did the entire ride up here.

It’s nice, this whole afternoon is, even when he has to step into the freezing cold water to retrieve the ball that Link suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with. The sandwiches are delicious, the beer is cold, and the sun feels incredible on his face when he falls in and out of sleep on the quilt provided by Harry.

The best part, though, is not being  _ alone _ , if Louis is being honest. He loves feeling Harry’s warmth beside him while lounging on the sand together, loves that there’s someone else to play tug-of-war with Link, loves that Harry will place his hand on Louis’ knee every so often, drawing circles with his thumb, a lazy smile playing across his face.

Louis doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting on the quilt for, Link napping at their feet, when he feels like he  _ has _ to bring it up. Nosy, he is. And he deserves to know.

“Harry?”

He’s laying down on his stomach, head on his hands, toes buried in the sand. “Mmm,” he groans.

“How long have you been waiting for me to catch up?”

Harry clears his throat. He sits up, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head, squinting in the sunlight. “Why?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m just… I wanna see if we’re on the same page, here. You and me.”

He traces a pattern in the sand with his pinky finger. “I dunno the exact amount of time, Louis.”

“Estimate.”

He rubs his hands over his face. “Ugh, Lou. I don’t know. Long enough for me to know that this is all I want.”

It’s more candid and open than Harry usually is, and Louis doesn’t quite know how to answer that. “Um.”

Harry pushes his toes back into the sand. “Hey, you asked. You’re not allowed to get quiet on me now.”

“No, I know. You’re right.” He runs his sandy fingers through his hair. “I think… I think it’s mutual.”

“Yeah? You want me back?” The look he gives is downright absurd.

Louis snorts. “Well,  _ now _ I don’t.”

Harry smiles and lays back down, this time on his back. He reaches out and scratches Link. Link barely moves. “Lou, I never truly allowed myself to seriously entertain the idea of us, you know? Like, it was never a possibility for a million different reasons, so I never let my head go there. But that night after the bar… Honest to God, Louis, I became a crazy person. An absolute madman. It’s like, you were there, just a little bit, and I’d had a taste, the tiniest taste, and then, that was kind of just… it. I was done for, even just from  _ that _ .”

Louis thinks his heart might beat out of his chest. He lays down on the quilt next to Harry, draping his arm over Harry’s chest. “What would you have done from there if nothing else had happened? If I’d dyed your hair blue and didn’t grind up all over you at that stupid concert the next weekend and then that was all?”

Harry breathes in deeply. “I say a little prayer every night that I won’t ever have to find the answer to that question.”

Louis thinks he’s kidding, but when he moves his gaze up, he sees Harry already staring back, face steady and unwavering.

It’s a serious look for a serious talk about their serious relationship.

But now, laying on a worn quilt courtesy of Harry’s grandmother and listening to the steady chatter of the families around them, the intensity of it all doesn’t bother Louis. In fact, it feels  _ good _ . And he's ready.  
  


* * *

  
The Jeep pulls into Louis’ driveway just after dinnertime, already dark outside. Links scrambles out of the car gracelessly, followed by Louis and Harry, hauling in the cooler and dog toys with them.

They make their way inside, sand trailing behind them, and Louis lets Link out through the back door. He watches him through the window, Link sniffing around several trees and rocks before finally disappearing under the porch where he likes to dig.

It’s been a long day in the sun, a long day trying to control the swirling thoughts in his own head. Louis’ tired, but he’s also antsy. He spent the entire car ride home thinking of nothing but how it would feel to suck off Harry, slowly, dragging it out until Harry is whining and sweating into the sheets, begging for something,  _ anything _ . And now that he’s in his house, his bedroom in view, he’s nearly vibrating out of his skin with the idea of Harry  _ finally _ fucking into him, taking control, driving him insane.

Louis can’t even  _ think _ about eating, when all he wants is for Harry to devour him, but he offers through gritted teeth anyway. “Want me to order something? Or attempt to cook? I think I have pasta. Or possibly burgers if I dig through the freezer.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But, drinks could be nice? If you have anything.”

Drinks, yes, drinks are good. He can do drinks.

He  _ needs _ drinks. Plural.

Louis finds wine in the back of the cabinet and pulls out two glasses to go along with it. He fills the glasses halfway and hands one off to Harry, who takes it happily.

He leads the way outside to the back porch. He can hear Link snoring from behind the bush next to the shed and he scoffs. “I have acquired the laziest dog in the world.”

Harry nods. “That you have.”

They take a seat next to each other on the top step. It’s dark outside; the streetlights are starting to come to life and a couple of bright stars are already painting the blackened sky. Louis takes a long sip from his glass, loving the bitter taste it leaves on his tongue.

Neither of them speak for a while. Instead, they listen to the neighbors next door, to the bats fluttering overhead above the trees, to each other’s breathing.

Harry drags his finger along the back of Louis’ arm, tickling. “I talked to Gemma yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s she liking her new place?”

He shrugs. “She said she liked it but she also said she was nervous. New job and all that, you know?”

He hums. “I do know. It’s hard to start over.”

They grow quiet again, Harry’s finger still tracing down the length of Louis’ tattoos on his bicep. “She said she misses you.”

Louis smiles at that. “I think I like her more than my actual sisters.”

Harry smiles, too. “She was the first person I told when I realized this was a thing,” he says, gesturing back and forth to Louis and himself.

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I tricked you into finally liking me back.”

Louis laughs. “And when exactly did you tell her this?”

Harry puts his empty wine glass down behind them. “Um, the night after the bar.”

“The night we played pool? Nothing had even  _ happened _ at that point.”

“Yeah,” Harry admits, dimple popping out. “But I knew. And I had to tell someone. She’s always been rooting for us, I think. Even though I’d never said anything about it before.”

Louis finishes his glass of wine, at a loss of what to say, and sets it down beside Harry’s. Harry drops his head to Louis’ shoulder - an uncomfortable position for him, for sure - and Louis hums in approval. He slides his hand up and down Harry’s thigh, feeling the muscles tense up underneath his touch.

When his hand reaches the inner part of Harry’s thigh, he leaves it there. Harry’s skin underneath his touch grows hot, even through his jeans, and Louis is suddenly extremely grateful for Harry’s suggestion of wine. It’s taken the edge off, giving him any confidence he needs.

He leaves his hand on Harry’s leg when he turns into him, giving Harry only a moment to sit up and catch up before he’s leaning in to kiss him. Harry immediately gives way, putting his own hand on Louis’ chest, sliding it up onto his neck and then into his hair, kissing back in a way that Louis knew he would.

It’s languid; as much as Louis loves falling apart like putty in Harry’s hands from an unbearably intense kiss, he likes this just as much. He can feel Harry’s every intake of breath, every swipe of his tongue, every time he moves his finger along Louis’ skin, inch by inch.

Harry has to break the kiss after a few more lazy minutes, his smile too bright to keep going.

Louis reaches up and wraps a curl around his finger, tugging gently. “What are you smiling about?”

His smile deepens. “I dunno. You.”

“Christ, you’re corny.”

“Not trying to be corny.” He bends down to kiss along Louis jaw. “I’m being honest.”

Louis doesn’t know how to respond to that - can’t, anyway - so he kisses him again. This time, it’s not as relaxed. He pushes himself up against Harry, and Harry responds immediately, wrapping an arm around his back, holding him flush against him.

But that won’t do. He wants to feel more of him. All of him.

He stands up slowly, lips still against Harry’s, and Harry gets the message. He rises, too, chasing Louis’ mouth. Louis backs up so he’s pressed up against the side of the house next to the back door, and he grabs Harry by the waist, digging his fingertips into the meat of his hips. Harry responds by sliding his own hands up and framing Louis’ jaw, making Louis feel so fucking safe and wanted. He can’t help but grind his own hips against Harry’s and the groan he lets out at the feeling is completely unintentional.

Harry snaps his hips back even harder, clearly spurred on by Louis’ reaction, and it only can be described as frantic from there. Harry’s hands are everywhere, Louis’ eyes can’t stay open, and both are completely out of breath by the time Louis forces himself to pull back.

“Harry. Inside, c’mon.”

Harry doesn’t question it. He just grabs Louis’ hand and follows his lead, slamming the back door shut behind him.

Louis tries to calm his racing heart, but knows it’s a lost cause because the second the bedroom door is shut, Harry’s hands and lips are back on him, every movement hot. Harry is  _ relentless _ , his hands already tugging at the hem of Louis’ shirt, desperation written in his every move, his breathing erratic.

He raises his arms and lets Harry undress him, yanking his t-shirt off, falling to the floor. Harry groans and attacks Louis’ neck, hands exploring, smoothing over his skin, sliding down to palm at his ass through his jeans.

Louis swallows hard. “Harry, Harry… Relax.”

Harry’s hands drop from Louis’ body, hanging limply by his sides, snapping out of the desperation that seemed to be consuming him. He looks startled and a bit embarrassed. “Sorry,” he breathes out quietly.

“No, babe, you don’t have to  be sorry…” He trails off, searching Harry’s face for a sign of hesitation. He doesn’t see any. “Love that you want me,” he murmurs, unable to look Harry directly in the eye.

Harry takes a step closer, his thumb drawing circles against Louis’ hip. “Do want you. Want you so fucking bad, all the fucking time.”

Louis nods. “It’s… Same for me.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, and Louis looks down to see Harry’s hands trembling. “Thank God.”

“Harry, I’m not going anywhere.”

He opens his eyes again, focus hazy. “Are you sure?”

Louis frowns. “Is that a genuine concern for you?”

Harry doesn’t answer. He just shrugs, movements still shaky. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, voice soft, unwavering. “You don’t have to… Hang on to me like you think I’m trying to get away.” He matches Harry’s gaze with his own. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers one more time. “I’m just… I’m here.”

“Okay,” Harry whispers back, “but I…” He stops talking and instead, dives back in to kiss Louis, even more fervently than before, leaving Louis to wonder what it was he wanted to say. Harry walks Louis backward until the back of Louis’ knees hit the edge of the bed. He tumbles backward, pulling Harry down on top of him.

Louis can’t remember  _ ever _ wanting someone so badly. He tells his body to shut up, to quit it with the tremors, but the second he feels Harry’s hands on the button of his jeans, any and all self consciousness is gone. He slides his own hands down to the hem of Harry’s shirt and yanks on it, Harry ducking down to help, and lifts his own hips to allow Harry to pull off his jeans.

He wants to take a moment to appreciate the body of the man hovering above him, even though he isn’t all that unfamiliar with it. They’ve spent summers at Harry’s parents’ lake house on Lake Erie, diving into the water, shirtless and bronzed from the sun. They’ve changed in front of each other countless times, borrowing each other’s clothes, Louis slapping Harry across the bare chest at any opportunity he got. And then there was that one time about a month after Chris died that Louis got  _ so _ drunk, he threw up all over himself and Harry found him like that, covered in his own vomit. Harry undressed him completely and helped him take a shower - something they  _ never _ talk about. Louis made him promise, even though he barely remembers the incident at all.

But Christ, this time is  _ extremely _ different from every single one of those times. He isn't simply walking by in a towel; rather, he's hard and panting, all for Louis.

Harry is toned everywhere, his time at the gym clearly paying off, and his newest tattoo is brightly outlined across his chest. His arms are bulging from the force of holding himself up and his abs clench with every movement. Louis reaches out to run his hands down Harry’s sides and that’s when Harry decides to grind down with exact precision. Louis chokes out a moan, matching Harry’s movements with his own hips.

Harry stills, then, and wraps his arms around Louis’ back, looping his arms around his shoulders, holding him. Louis opens his mouth to question what he’s doing, but suddenly, he flies backward onto the bed, Harry still holding onto him like a vice.

“What the hell was that for?!” he sputters out.

Harry mouths idly at Louis’ neck. “Needed more room,” he says, breathing into Louis’ collarbones.

Louis lulls his head to the side and Harry starts sucking a bruise into the skin. “Room for what?” he breathes out.

“Wanna suck you off. Didn’t want you hanging off the edge of the bed.”

Louis swallows. “You wanna suck me off?”

Harry nods against his shoulder, hands still moving across his body, teasing at the waistband of Louis’ boxers. “Wanna do a lot of things.”

_ Deep breaths _ . “What else?”

His hand cups Louis through his boxers and Louis arches into it. He keeps teasing when he says, “Everything. Wanna make you fall apart from my mouth, want to jerk you off, want to fuck you more than anything,  _ shit. _ ” He continues to squeeze and rub Louis, still without direct contact. Louis feels like he could beg for it. “Want to feel your hands on me, too. And your mouth.  _ Love _ your mouth.”

Louis starts grinding his hips upward into Harry’s again, needs to feel if Harry is as embarrassingly hard as he is.

He is.

He feels like his entire body is throbbing, thrumming with anticipation. “You love my mouth?” He isn’t proud of how high-pitched his voice comes out.

“God, I love your mouth. Love how you taste.” He pauses and locks eyes with Louis, smiling, still squeezing Louis’ cock. “Love how fresh you are.”

He rolls his eyes, grinding his hips up, chasing the feeling. “Save most of my freshness for you.”

Harry nods knowingly. “I’m so fucking lucky.” He doesn’t sound like he’s being sarcastic.

Louis whines, unable to stop himself. “Harry, please…”

“Please, what?” But he knows. He sits back on his knees and pulls down Louis’ boxers, his cock fully hard.

Louis flushes under Harry’s intense gaze. He’s barely blinking, eyes wide and traveling across his body. “You still have jeans on and I’m fully naked. On what planet is this allowed?”

Harry doesn’t seem to catch the teasing, slightly desperate tone to Louis’ voice, and he ignores Louis’ question entirely.  “Like, so fucking gorgeous. Every bit of you.” He drops his hands to Louis’ hips and leaves them there, holding onto them tightly. “Just can’t believe you want me back, you know?”

He doesn’t know. What a ridiculous statement. “Are you serious?”

Harry reaches down to take Louis in his hand and starts jerking him off slowly, just the way Louis likes it when he wants to draw it out. “Lou, I’m crazy about you.” His voice is soft but sure.

The look on Harry’s face is  _ it _ for Louis. He bats Harry’s hand away - as much as it pains him to do so - and knocks Harry down flat on his back. He sits on Harry’s thighs and begins to unbutton and unzip his jeans. “You’re crazy about a  _ lot _ of things if you think I don’t want you.” He yanks down the jeans, raising himself up on his knees to do so. Even in the darkness of Louis’ bedroom, he can see how hard Harry is, body trembling, and he’s undeniably sexy. So filthily gorgeous. “Can’t keep my hands off of you, like, 80% of the time. And the rest of the time, I’m  _ thinking _ about what I want my hands to do to you once they’re on you.” He bends down and licks a stripe down Harry’s cock, and Harry groans, his hands immediately clutching at Louis’ shoulders. “Don’t know what took us so long to get here,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s hip, and then he takes him down all the way, no preamble, no working up to it.

Harry’s breathing instantly goes from choppy to downright out of control. Louis can tell he’s trying not to shove his hips up into Louis’ mouth, which he appreciates, but he  _ loves _ that Harry’s losing it, that he’s having trouble keeping it together.

Louis can hardly take it, how turned on he is, just from getting Harry off. He needs to make Harry squirm, make him feel like Louis does, like he’s burning from the inside out. And it’s stupid, honestly, that he has to even  _ question _ whether or not Harry is feeling the same way he does; it’s painfully obvious, with his rapid breathing and shaking thighs. Louis has been so in tuned to Harry’s movements and expressions for over a decade. He  _ knows _ how close to the edge Harry is, even if he hasn’t fully voiced it yet. But that’s what he wants. He wants him to tell Louis that he’s barely holding it together, just like Louis.

He pulls off of Harry all the way, and he knows how unsexy he looks with a string of spit connecting his lips to the head of Harry’s cock, but it seems to work for Harry. He pumps up his hips, seemingly subconsciously, and moans. “Your mouth,” he whimpers, like it’s a complete thought.

Louis licks down the base and says into Harry’s thigh, “‘m gonna let you fuck me.” It comes out like it’s a secret, and Louis thinks it’s the worst kept secret he’s ever had. Harry, on the other hand, finally breaks the way Louis wanted him to.

“Do you  _ understand _ ,” he almost growls, “what you  _ do _ to me?” He looks up at the ceiling, blinking, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Louis. Lou…” He trails off, swallowing. “Say it again.”

Louis can see the desperation written all over Harry’s face, and  _ he _ put it there. He’s suddenly reminded of how hard he is when he bends down and breathes hotly over Harry’s cock, looking up to make direct eye contact with Harry, murmuring, “You’re gonna fuck me.”

He continues to work his mouth over Harry before Harry can get another word in, the heat and slickness of his tongue getting Harry off slowly and surely, his movements sure and practiced. Harry slips his hand down to feel where his cock is sliding in and out of Louis’ mouth, stomach clenching every time he sits up to get a visual, murmuring how gorgeous Louis is, taking it, loving it. Louis loses track of time, lost in the way Harry is so affected by him, but can tell he’s been going at it for a while based on the way his jaw is starting to ache, his back beginning to tense up. He tongues at the head of Harry’s cock and looks up. Harry is staring back at him, cheeks pink and he moans.

“Louis,  _ Lou, _ I can’t, you, I’m.”

Louis sits up, jerking Harry slowly. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

His chest is heaving. “Please say I can fuck you now, please say I can.” He whines when Louis takes him down the entire way again, bobbing up and down with purpose.

He pulls off after another few moments of Harry’s begging, and he tries to play it off like he isn’t as affected, but he knows Harry knows, bested at his own game. There’s no way he would be able to hide the desperation in his voice, eyes, every movement. “Yeah, Harry, fuck me, come on.”

Harry sits up and covers his body over Louis’ in one swift motion, kissing him deeply, and if he can taste himself on Louis’ tongue, it only seems to encourage him. Louis’ cock brushes against Harry’s stomach and he groans.

“Lube. I need lube. And a condom. Where are they?” Harry asks, panting onto Louis’ face.

Louis can’t even think of the last time he used either of said items. Christ, that’s humiliating. “Um, top drawer of my nightstand? I hope?”

Harry rolls over and flicks on the light, rummaging through the bedside table drawer. “Lou, this drawer is disgusting. Who needs, like, four bottles of Visine? And is this a fucking  _ Wendy’s wrapper _ ?!”

Louis shrugs. “Probably. Don’t get distracted. Hurry up.”

He turns back to look at Louis, expression changing instantly, and takes a deep breath. “We’re keeping the lights on. You have no idea how good you look. I can’t see enough of you in the dark.”

Louis rolls his eyes, trying to cover up his blush. “That’s nice, Harry. Find the fucking lube.”

“The ‘fucking lube’ is right.”

“Oh my God.”

Harry finally finds the lube and one almost expired condom after much rummaging and cursing. He leans down to kiss Louis again briefly, and then flips open the bottle’s cap, eyes locked on Louis’. Louis can’t take it, can’t deal with the way Harry’s looking at him,  _ been _ looking at him for hours, weeks even, so he tries to break the mood and puts one leg up on Harry’s shoulder. He winks at Harry and murmurs as confidently as he can muster, “Let’s do it.”

He thinks Harry would laugh or maybe shove his leg off, but instead, he manages to look even more serious, more turned on. He holds Louis’ leg in place and says, “Okay. I got you.”

Louis positively cannot breathe.

The first finger doesn’t hurt, doesn’t feel like much of anything, but he would ask for this every single day based on Harry’s reactions alone. He can’t stop praising Louis, can’t stop encouraging him, can’t stop complimenting his every move. Louis feels hot under Harry’s attention and he is positively  _ living _ for it.

He slides in a second finger, then third, murmuring how good Louis feels, how long he’s been waiting to get inside him, how long he’s been thinking about fucking him.

Louis is squirming under Harry’s words and Harry’s fingers, unable to lay still. When he twitches particularly hard, Harry unintentionally grazes that spot inside of Louis that makes his cock blurt out precome, and he moans. “Can’t even tell if I’m ready, but I don’t care. Fuck me.”

Harry twists his fingers and his wrist. Louis thinks he’s about to slide out but instead, he jerks them back in, spreading them once more. “You’re not ready. I’ll tell you when you’re ready.”

“Harry, what the  _ fuck. _ ” His body jerks against his will again when Harry grazes his prostate once more. “It’s enough. Come on.”

“Almost ready, babe. Just… You’re so hot like this.”

“For the  _ love _ of God.” His leg slips off of Harry’s shoulder and back down onto the bed.

Harry smirks and bites down on his bottom lip. “Love when you hate me.” He reaches for the condom on the edge of the bed and rips it open with his teeth, pulling it out of its package and sliding it down onto his cock.

Louis tries not to stare. He's unsuccessful. “I do hate you.”

“I know. Gonna fuck you now, okay? Can you get on your hands and knees?”

He doesn’t want to listen to him, to give in to any instructions whatsoever, but he thinks he might start tearing up if he doesn’t feel Harry inside of him within the next several seconds. He gets onto his hands and knees embarrassingly quickly and feels Harry position himself behind him, his hands squeezing his ass cheeks. Louis braces himself.

“Yes, you can fuck me now. That’s what I’ve…” The rest of his words are lost on a moan as Harry starts to push himself in.

It doesn’t take him too long to bottom out, hips touching Louis’ skin after only a few moments. He pulls back once and punches back in, and that’s all it takes for Louis to drop down to his elbows, already weak and shaky with how beyond good it is.

Harry groans from behind him, his hands trailing all over Louis’ skin, mapping him out, learning how he feels. His thrusts are rough and  _ incredible _ ; Louis can hardly stand the drag of it, and it’s obvious Harry is feeling the same.

“Louis, are you kidding? How are you so fucking tight? How do you… How can you…” He stops trying to form sentences and keeps up his steady rhythm instead.

Louis tries to push back onto Harry’s cock, meeting him thrust for thrust, but it’s impossible. Every muscle in his body feels like jelly and it’s taking all the energy he has to not drop down entirely, face first into the pillow below him.

Harry stills after God only knows how long, his cock still buried inside of Louis, and Louis turns around to protest. He looks over his shoulder at Harry and he feels like the wind was just knocked out of him. Harry’s entire face is red and blotchy, lip bitten raw, beads of sweat rolling down his temples and onto his chest. Incredible.

He finds his voice. “Why… Why are you stopping?”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Need to kiss you.” When he moves forward to chase Louis’ lips, his cock slides in even deeper and Louis thinks he only needs a couple more perfect thrusts to come. Their lips meet and it’s tantalizingly good; Louis reluctantly drops back down to his elbows when Harry breaks the kiss, unable to hold himself up any longer.

He thrusts back into Louis again and again, hands gripping his hips, his movements almost punishing and bruising. Louis closes his eyes, moans seeping out of him, and then Harry’s cock brushes against his already overstimulated prostate. He almost screams, whimpering Harry’s name.

Harry circles his hand around Louis’ cock, jerking him off roughly in time with his thrusts. Louis has never seen Harry come before, but he knows he’s close based on the noises he’s making, and he knows Harry wants Louis to fall off the edge with him.

“Harry, I’m close, too,” he confirms, clenching around Harry’s cock, and Harry’s breathing picks up again.

“Come on, baby, fucking…” Harry’s hand tightens around Louis’ cock, and that’s what it takes for Louis to start coming, thick and pulsing, abs tightening with his release.

Harry follows suit immediately, groaning words that Louis can’t hear or make out, but he  _ does _ catch the way Harry candidly whispers, “Amazing. You’re amazing.”

He pulls out slowly while Louis is already laying flat on his stomach, dangerously close to sleep, not caring about the mess in his bed, body still shaking from the force of his orgasm. Harry drops down next to him, pulling him in close, kissing his jaw, smelling of sweat and leftover cologne from earlier. Louis breathes in deeply. If it’s his new favorite smell, he won’t ever admit that to Harry.

He’s about four seconds from a deep sleep, completely bone tired, when Harry whispers  _ fuck _ and climbs out of bed. Louis whines in protest. “What’re you doing?”

“I’ll be right back. We forgot to let Link in. He’s still outside.”

Louis opens one eye and forces himself to focus on the clock. It reads 11:21. Link has only been out a few hours, he estimates. He also thinks it’s not late enough to be this tired, but Christ, sex with Harry feels like an actual workout.

He means to tell Harry that he’s sorry he’s so tired, and that he’s so happy he found someone who will let his dog in when he forgets to, and will get up to do so when they’re both nearly comatose. He really tries to stay awake to tell him this.

He’s asleep before Harry even makes it back to the bedroom.


	3. Part II

The next morning, Louis wakes up earlier than he usually does, presumably due to sharing a bed. He hasn’t shared a bed in years.

He stretches lightly as to not wake Harry and reaches for his water bottle on his nightstand. He knows his breath is bad, he can taste it, but the idea of getting up out from under these blankets to brush his teeth is nearly laughable. Instead, he rolls back over so he’s facing Harry and watches the way his chest rises and falls evenly.

Back in high school, Harry and Louis used to have sleepovers together all the time, sometimes with Chris and sometimes without him. They’d sleep in Harry’s tiny bedroom, squishing into the bed together, or in Louis’ basement, where they could sprawl out on the old, dingy couches his family had acquired over the years. Waking up next to Harry back then was  _ never _ like this, though. It was always platonic, never anything beyond friends having a casual sleepover. But  _ this _ is something completely different. Louis’ body is already riddled with the need to touch Harry again, to taste him again.

When they were younger, Louis would wake up thinking  _ I’m hungry _ or  _ I need to pee _ or  _ Harry, get the fuck up _ . Now, the only thing streaming through his mind is  _ I had sex with Harry, I had sex with Harry, I had sex with Harry _ on repeat.

And Christ, sex with Harry is so  _ good. _

He moves in closer to Harry and puts his hand over his chest. His heart is beating steadily against his palm. Louis kisses Harry’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, tracing his finger up and down his bare chest. Harry begins to stir.

Louis kisses his shoulder again and Harry cracks an eye open. “Hi,” Louis whispers. He puts his palm back down on Harry’s chest. His heart isn’t being so calmly anymore. It’s fluttering  _ wildly. _

“Hi,” he whispers back. Then he rolls over to meet Louis in a kiss that’s  _ way _ too deep for a normal morning greeting, and Louis accepts it instantly, bad breath and all.

It’s not frantic like it was last night, but it’s just as serious, just as passionate. Harry’s hands card through Louis’ bed head, scratching his nails along his scalp, and Louis arches into it, loving the way it feels. Harry kisses him deeply, tongue running across his bottom lip, biting occasionally, making Louis whimper under the heat of it.

When he feels Harry’s hand start to trail down his body, he parts his legs, wondering how he got so hard so quickly. Harry pushes down his boxers and gets a firm hold around Louis’ cock, thumbing at the tip, jerking him slowly. Louis’ breath stutters, too vulnerable in the morning to have Harry’s gaze on him like this, so fucking intense.

They don’t speak like they did last night; it’s not like Louis can’t find the words to say, but rather, he feels like he’s choking on it all, frozen under the heat of Harry’s touch and own erratic breathing.

Louis closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, when Harry starts mouthing at the mark he left the night before on his neck, hand still pumping his cock. He bucks his hips up into the feeling, unable to stop himself.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs against his neck.

Louis swallows. “Harry.” His voices come out much more uneven than he’d intended on.

Harry takes his hand off of Louis’ cock and reaches down underneath him, his finger slipping in between Louis’ cheeks. He leaves it there, unmoving. “Are you sore?”

He’s  _ painfully _ sore, but he finds himself pushing into Harry’s touch, anyway. “Yes.”

Harry lifts his head up. “Do you not want…”

“No. I want it.”

Harry nods and kisses him on the lips again, slightly groaning. He pulls back and reaches for the lube on the nightstand where he left it last night and slicks up his finger. He slides in easily and Louis holds back his sounds of discomfort. Harry must be able to tell, regardless, because he moves slowly, never taking his eyes off of Louis’ face, and he doesn’t put in a second finger until Louis tells him to.

He takes his time, fingering open Louis again, much more careful and patient than he was last night. Louis can’t keep his eyes open - can’t really concentrate when Harry is staring at him like that again, anyway - and his whole body nearly spasms when Harry rubs along that spot inside of him. He clenches his jaw, digs his fingers into the mattress.

“Okay, Harry,  _ okay, _ ” he whispers.

Harry pulls his fingers out moves to roll a condom down over his own cock, adding additional lube. He hovers over Louis, face-to-face this time, his green eyes unblinking. Louis likes that he can see every thought cross through Harry’s mind when they’re so close like this, but that means Harry can read Louis’ own thoughts, as well. He feels exposed, especially when Harry begins to push in. But it’s okay. For the first time in a long time, it’s all okay.

Harry never gains momentum, never goes quickly. His thrusts are deep and even, but slow and unhurried. Louis has to close his eyes again, the feeling of it too much, too fucking  _ good _ , but when he forces them back open, he sees Harry’s gaze has never once left his face.

He leans down to kiss him, hips still moving, and he whines against Louis’ lips. “You’re so hot, so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. He drops his forehead to Louis’. “Best thing I’ve ever felt, fucking you, I swear to God. I can’t even believe it.”

Louis drags his hands down Harry’s back, digging his nails in hard enough to leave a mark but not to break the skin. “Feeling’s mutual,” he whispers back, like it’s a secret. “Feels amazing being fucked by you.”

Harry groans and pushes in deeper, angling his hips up, and Louis jolts, making a noise even  _ he _ didn’t know he was capable of making. “Right there?” he asks.

“Like you can’t tell,” he whimpers. “Keep going.”

He leans down again to mouth hotly at Louis’ neck, licking a stripe up to his ear. “Okay, as long as you keep sounding like that.”

Louis means to tell him to shut up, he really does, but then he hits that spot dead on again, and it takes every ounce of willpower to not come right there. He lifts his hips up to meet Harry’s thrusts, sliding his hands up his back and into his hair, holding on tightly. “It’s unfair,” he whimpers. “Unfair that you fuck me almost to death last night and then you do it again this morning.” He gasps at another perfectly angled thrust and digs his nails in deeper into Harry’s hair.

“Don’t even talk to me about unfair,” Harry mumbles out, driving his hips in impossibly deeper. “Been wanting to fuck you for months, and I had  _ no _ idea you’d sound like this, look like this, taste like this. Makes me jealous of anyone else who’s ever had you like this.  _ Unfair _ I didn’t get to you first.”

“Oh my God,” he moans. He clings onto Harry, pulling him in close, wishing he would just stop fucking  _ talking _ , because the more secrets he lets out, the closer Louis is to falling off the edge. But then he gets his hand around Louis’ cock, jerking him in time to his thrusts, and when he bites down on Louis’ shoulder, Louis can’t help but let go, coming all over Harry’s hand with a weak shout.

Louis looks up at Harry who has his own eyes closed now, hips moving sloppily, his breathing quick, hand still on Louis’ cock. He’s  _ really _ sore now. He drags one hand along Harry’s jaw; Harry’s eyes snap open. “Come on, baby,” he whispers. “Wanna see your face when you come. Didn’t get to last night. Bet you’re so hot when you finally come, just  _ do _ it, Harry…” He pauses, gripping Harry’s hair in his hand. “No one’s ever had me like this,” he whispers, completely truthful.

That’s all the encouragement Harry needs, furrowing his brows, biting on his bottom lip, whining as he releases into the condom, still inside of Louis, and  _ damn it _ if he actually  _ does _ look hot.

He pulls out slowly, and lays back down next to Louis, his curls at his neck matted from sweat. He grabs Louis’ hand and kisses the back of it. “Good morning,” he says with a smile. “Don’t think I said that yet.”

Louis yanks his hand away, but his smile isn’t going anywhere.  
  


* * *

 

  
The rest of spring goes by quickly, and Louis has Harry to blame for that. It’s like all of his days start blending together, turning into one big whirl of  _ Harry. _

He can’t believe how quickly he fell into this, into him, how seamless everything is. It’s natural and Louis couldn’t ask for anything else.

But. There is something they haven’t discussed and Louis doesn’t know how to bring it up without feeling like he’s in high school.

They’re at the mall one Tuesday evening, Harry rummaging through a rack of sweatshirts as if he needs another one, and Louis is looking on, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently.

“Harry, you didn’t say we would be here all fucking night,” he groans. “You said you just wanted to run in real quick.” Harry blatantly ignores him, so Louis groans louder. “I have stuff to do!”

He looks up at that. “What do you have to do?”

Louis pauses. “I need to walk Link.”

Harry snorts and goes back to the sweatshirts. “That’s a lie.”

“Ugh, fine, I recorded  _ Pretty Little Liars _ at your house.”

“That sounds about right.”

Louis starts tapping his foot again. “I’m not getting any younger.”

He laughs, throwing his hands up in the air. “You are such a pain in the ass. Just, shh, for like five minutes, and we can stop for ice cream.”

“I’m not a fucking child.” He makes a face, pouting. “And besides, the ice cream place will be closed by the time we finally get out of here.”

“Oh for the love of God, you’re exhausting.”

Louis is about to respond, insult on the tip of his tongue, when he hears someone calling his name from across the store. Louis looks up to see his mom’s friend Kim, whom he hasn’t seen in years.

“Hi, Kim!” he says, meeting her in for a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m great, honey, how is everything?”

“Same old, same old. Busy working and such.” He looks at Harry. “This is my mom’s friend, Kim.”

She smiles and turns to Harry. “And who’s this?”

Louis clears his throat. “Oh, this is, um, this is, this…” Harry gives him a look, and Louis can tell he’s blushing, his face hot. “This is my… My Harry.”

Kim looks  _ very _ uncomfortable, about as uncomfortable as Louis feels. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Louis’ Harry.”

Harry holds out his hand. “You, too. How long have you known Jay?”

Louis tunes out as the two of them chat, embarrassed that he couldn’t spit out the word  _ boyfriend _ , embarrassed that he couldn’t ask Harry about it earlier last week when he first wondered about it. And it’s not like Harry’s seeing anyone else. He knows they’re committed, knows this is a big deal for both of them. He just… Can’t manage to actually say, “This is Harry, my boyfriend,” without feeling like he’s a sophomore in high school, without his palms getting sweaty. 

Mostly, he can’t admit there’s a tiny part of him that’s afraid he’s wrong, and Harry  _ isn’t _ as in this as he is.

“Alright, well, it was great to see you, Lou. And nice to meet you Harry,” Kim says, pulling Louis in for a hug again. “Tell Mom I said hello.”

“Will do.”

She walks away and Harry looks at Louis, smirk playing over his face, lips pressed together.

“What.” Louis is having a hard time meeting Harry’s gaze.

“Nothing. It’s cute seeing you squirm, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why couldn’t you call me your boyfriend?” He nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own. “I am, right?”

Louis swallows. “I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted and I didn’t wanna put you on the spot. And I haven’t asked someone to be my boyfriend since I was 17.”

Harry’s face breaks out into a smile. “That’s  _ all _ I want.”

He rolls his eyes. “You make me nauseous.” He’s playing it off, but he feels so much better,  _ ridiculously _ better.

“You don’t have to actually  _ ask _ me, Lou,” Harry continues, smile still bright. “I’m yours and you’re mine and that’s it.” He shrugs. “If that’s okay with you.”

Louis scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, I suppose it’s okay with me.”

“Okay, good. Now, help me pick out a sweatshirt before someone else comes over here and forces you into another stroke.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. I’m your  _ boyfriend _ ,” Harry says, dragging out the  _ o _ in boyfriend.

“Ugh. I take it back. We’re not boyfriends.”

“Guess I have no reason to keep  _ Pretty Little Liars _ on my recordings, then.”

Louis holds up the first sweatshirt he sees off the rack. “This one would look great on you and you’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

Harry smirks. “That’s more like it.” He grabs the sweatshirt out of Louis’ hands and brings it to the register. “My boyfriend likes this one,” he tells the cashier, winking over his shoulder at Louis.

Louis thinks if he rolls his eyes again, they’re going to get stuck like that. It’s a real possibility, at this rate. And he’s fine with that.  
  


* * *

  
“Okay, so, the first person I ever had sex with was Jill Kelly when I was a junior in high school.”

Louis is sitting on Harry’s couch after dinner out with Liam and Sarah, the TV playing  _ The Day After Tomorrow _ , Harry’s head in Louis’ lap. Louis’ running his fingers through his curls, making a complete mess out of them, but Harry says it’s his favorite thing. Whenever Louis’ fingers stop moving, Harry will nudge his head until Louis starts up again. Honestly, it’s like he has two giant dogs he never asked for.

He scratches gently at the nape of his neck, tangling his fingers in some of the curlier spots. “Jill Kelly? Really?”

“Mhmm.” Harry’s eyes slip shut, opening again a moment later.

“Why did I think your first time was with Ben Kingdon?”

“That was my first time with a  _ guy _ . Jill was the year before.”

“Oh. How was she?”

Louis can feel Harry’s smile against his leg. “You jealous?”

“Yes, I’m jealous of inexperienced 17-year-old Harry Styles who probably came in a minute and a half.”

“Excuse me,” Harry protests. He nips at Louis’ thigh and Louis retaliates by tugging at his curls. “I’ll have you know I was  _ always _ a fantastic lay, stamina be damned.”

Louis snorts. “So I’m right about the minute and a half.”

“Oh, like I’m sure you were much better for your first time.”

He chews on his bottom lip, holding back a smile. “I don’t remember, to be honest. All I can remember thinking was, ‘Don’t hurt him, don’t fucking hurt him.’”

Harry sits up next to Louis and puts his hand on his leg, rubbing circles with his thumb. He pauses for several moments before he says, “I can’t believe the first and only person you had ever had sex with you  _ married _ .”

Louis shrugs. “He made it pretty easy, you know? It was kind of a no brainer, marrying him. It never even crossed my mind that he was the only person I was ever going to have sex with. Only person until he… Yeah.” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t a big deal to me. I didn’t care about what else I was losing out on, because to me, I  _ wasn’t _ losing out on anything else. I had everything.”

Harry’s thumb stops moving, but his hand remains firm on his thigh. “He used to say things like that about you all the time, you know.”

There’s a lump in Louis’ throat. “That doesn’t surprise me. He was always better with words, never had a hard time saying what he was thinking.”

Harry nods. “I remember asking him if he wanted help writing his vows before your wedding and he said, ‘Why would I need help?’ Like I was so completely stupid for thinking he would have a hard time coming up with words to say about you.”

Louis smiles. “His vows were beautiful. His first vows, and his second ones.”

“His second ones?”

He’s not sure if he can talk about this. He’s never told anyone before. He’s going to try. “Right before he died, he asked me if we could renew our vows. And I told him we could do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t, like, a ceremony or anything. It was just the two of us, in his hospital room, way past visiting hours.” Louis pauses to take a deep breath. Harry squeezes his leg. “I barely remember what I said to him. Probably something along the lines of thanking him for giving me all the time and love he had.” He shrugs. “Chris’ words though…” He feels like he could choke.

“Babe, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not privy to your marriage with Chris. That’s not my place.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I want you to know. He, um, he told me he would never be able to explain how much he loves me and cares for me. And that he wishes he could have had the ability to devote more years to showing me how important I am. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen.” He has to stop again. He isn’t crying, he doesn’t want to. “The second half of his vows were more or less vows he wanted  _ me _ to make to  _ him _ . He made me vow to find someone who could love me and care for me as much or more than he did. So he could rest knowing I would be taken care of.”

It’s freeing to talk about his bad days with Chris in a new situation. Before, in recent days of Chris’ death, thinking about this would make him feel sick to his stomach. Now, he has Harry’s hands in his own and he feels so safe, like nothing else can hurt him.

Louis still isn’t crying,  _ still isn’t crying _ , but Harry’s eyes are rimmed with red. His voice is unsteady when he asks, “How am I doing so far?”

He laces his fingers through Harry’s and takes a steady breath. “With what, babe?”

“Just, being here. Caring for you and watching out for you. Am I doing okay?” He sounds uncharacteristically small and timid, his hands are trembling. It makes Louis’ heart ache.

“Harry…”

“Tell me I’m doing an okay job. Please. I would be crushed if Chris didn’t think I was protecting you with everything I have. Even if we didn’t have  _ this, _ I would still be here, you know?” Harry tucks some of his hair behind his ear. “I think I would die before I let anything happen to you.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. “God, Harry… You’re doing  _ amazing, _ you have no idea,” he whispers. “I made a vow that I would find someone who cared about me as much as Christopher did.” He swallows heavily. “I did.”

Harry nods. “You did. Was always here, though.”

He traces his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “I know.”

They sit in silence after that, long enough for the entire length of the movie’s credits to roll through. When the next movie starts playing, some awful romantic comedy with Matthew McConaughey, Harry shifts around on the couch. “I hate saying this to you, but fuck, I just miss him so much sometimes. All the time, really.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, no, you’re allowed to miss him, Harry, God. You loved him as much as I did, probably.”

Harry nods. “Maybe,” he mumbles.

“Definitely,” Louis counters.

Harry seems satisfied with that answer. Eventually, he nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own, his eyes less red. “So other than me and Chris, what’s your number?”

Louis scoffs. “Ugh,  _ honestly _ , Harry. Including you and Christopher…” He sighs. “Seven.”

He purses his lips and nods. “Can’t believe you would have only had sex with one person for your entire life if he hadn’t died.”

He snorts. “Well, you’d better believe it.”

“You know what else I can’t believe?”

Louis looks up to meet Harry’s gaze. “What?”

“That  _ you _ topped.”

Louis bursts out laughing and then immediately punches Harry in the stomach. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but Harry plays along and rolls off the couch anyway. “You’re such an asshole!” Louis yells, shaking his head, smile not in danger of slipping.

Harry looks up at him from the floor. “But you’re stuck with me.”

Louis slides off the couch, too, and climbs on top of him, straddling him, bracketing him down against the floor using his thighs. “I don’t know what I did to deserve any of this.”

Harry’s smile is contagious. “I ask myself that question every single damn day.”  
  


* * *

  
It’s late, this one particular Friday night, and Louis and Harry are laying in Harry’s bed. The moon is bright and peeking through the window, the trees rustling. It’s the first night in weeks that the AC doesn’t need to be turned on.

Harry’s head is on Louis’ bare chest, and Louis is drawing patterns and shapes up and down Harry’s spine, loving the way he shivers every time he drags his finger  _ just _ right.

“Our first date, you told me you’d been into me for a while.”

Harry slides out of Louis’ arms and props himself up on his elbow. Even in the darkness, Louis can see him roll his eyes. He clearly knows where Louis is going with this. “Yes.”

“And then again at the lake, you eluded to how long a ‘while’ was, somewhat, but not really.”

Harry looks down and then back up. “I suppose.”

Louis stares at him, waiting for an answer. When it doesn’t come, he asks, teasing, “Are you ever gonna tell me how long you’d been pining?”

Harry’s frown is playful. “I wasn't pining." 

“Whatever you say.” He pauses. “Just fucking tell me, Styles.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments. Harry eventually drops down to the mattress, flat on his back. “God, you’re relentless. Clearly never gonna let this go.” Louis knows he isn’t really annoyed, though. “Louis, I don’t want you to read too much into this or think I’m crazy or think I was a terrible friend to Christopher, okay?”

Louis rolls over and looks at Harry. Harry won’t meet his gaze, though. “What does that mean?” Louis asks.

Harry clears his throat. “It means… It means ten years.”

“Ten years?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Ten years of what?” Then, Louis gets it. “Harry, do you mean you… Since  _ high school _ ?” He feels like he can’t swallow.

Harry rubs his eyes. “About. Yeah.”

“Did Chris know?” is all he can think to ask.

He takes a deep breath. “God, no. I mean, when you guys first met, he used to tease me because I’d ask to hang out with you a lot. I guess I was kind of obvious in the beginning. But as soon as I caught wind of the fact that you two were together, I turned it off. Mostly. Then we never talked about it again. And that was that.”

Louis swallows. “Ten years, though… Really?”

Harry groans. “Can we stop now? This is embarrassing.”  
  
“Yeah, for  _ you _ .”

He laughs. “Shut up.”

They fall into silence again. Louis rolls over and puts his head on Harry’s own bare chest. His heart is beating steadily. It’s comforting. “I don’t think this would work as well as it is if we weren’t best friends for so long first,” he whispers. He reaches under the sheets and finds Harry’s hand. On instinct, Harry laces their fingers together and squeezes tightly. “Because you’re still my best friend. But now, you’re just… You’re everything.”

“Lou,” Harry whispers back. He kisses him on the shoulder. Louis thinks he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

He looks up at Harry and blinks. “I’m a little bit gone for you, I think,” he says, his voice still hushed.

Harry inhales sharply. “Baby, you have no idea.” His voice is shaky and it breaks on the last word; Louis doesn’t say a thing about it.  
  
  
  
  
Later, Harry spends the better half of an hour teasing and touching Louis until Louis is on the verge of begging him to fuck him. Harry lines himself up with Louis and just before he starts to push in, he pauses and looks down.

“Before, it was always just a crush, nothing more, because you weren't attainable. It was like a stupid, farfetched dream. But now…” He pulls Louis’ hand up to his face and drops a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Louis can almost see Harry’s thoughts spinning around in his mind. “It's like, I have you, and it’s not just a crush anymore, Lou. I didn't think I could care about you more than I did but here we are and I need you to know that.”

Without another word from either of them, he finally gets inside of Louis, quickly working himself up to a steady rhythm, thrusting over and over at a pace that Louis is  _ sure _ is going to kill him. He can't think of anything other than  _ Harry, Harry, mine, Harry. _

After their sweat cools, they’re wrapped up within each other again, and Louis can’t think of words to adequately describe the words spinning around in his mind.

He knows Harry is almost asleep - can tell by the way his breathing is shallow and soft - but he touches his jawline anyway, tracing the barely there stubble with his pointer finger.

“Harry,” he whispers, kissing his neck.   


“Mmm,” Harry mumbles back, head lolling to the side.

Louis smiles, and kisses him again softly. “It’s a lot of pressure for me to live up to the standards that you’ve been holding onto for the better part of a decade,” he says against Harry’s shoulder. “But I want you to know that I don’t ever want to let you down. I’ve never wanted to do that.”

Harry doesn’t open his eyes when he murmurs, “You’re exceeding every expectation I ever had of you. I don’t know how you’re doing it. I’m just…” He opens one eye. “I’m just very lucky.”

Louis does  _ not _ have a lump in his throat. He pulls the sheets up to his chin. “I hope I was worth the wait,” he mumbles quietly, only half kidding.

“Would have waited even longer if I knew it would be like this, if I had to,” Harry says, voice hushed. He pulls Louis in closer. Louis knows he’s fighting sleep. He’s pretty close, himself.

“Yeah, there won’t be any more waiting,” he says, closing his eyes.

Harry might say something else after that, but Louis doesn’t hear him. Sleep wins the battle.

He’s heard everything he needed to hear, anyway.  
  


* * *

 

  
Harry takes Louis out on a date one Thursday night, complaining they’re already a boring old married couple, and he wants to have some fun. Louis expects he’ll take him to the new IMAX movie, or the bar that just opened up down the road, but instead, they end up in front of an arcade.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really, really.”

“Whatever you say.”

They head inside, Harry giving the extremely bored looking boy behind the counter two $20 bills, and hands off the plastic cup filled with tokens to Louis.

“Ready for me to kick your ass?”

Louis rolls his eyes, so disgustingly endeared. “Bring it on.”

They stop in front of the candy crane first, Louis cursing when the crane drops his lollipop at last minute. He puts in another token, the same process repeating itself.

“Fuck it, I don’t want a lollipop, anyway.”

Harry puts in one of his own tokens and pulls up a Snickers bar on the first try.

“Show off,” Louis mutters under his breath, but smiles when he feels Harry slide the chocolate bar into the back pocket of his jeans.

They make their way around the arcade, stopping at the lanes of skee-ball. Harry hits the 100 point hole nearly every time, and Louis gets so mad, he climbs up the lane and starts tossing his balls in until one of the employees yells at him to get down.

And don’t  _ even _ get him started on pinball or the Pacman machine.

Harry also wins at basketball - Louis says Harry has giant-like tendencies, and therefore, is at an advantage - but Louis completely destroys him at air hockey, the score 9-1 when Harry admits defeat.

After that, Harry suggests they head out to use the gokarts next door before they close down for the night, and Louis is about to agree when he spots a pool table out of the corner of his eye. He saunters over and grabs a pool cue, and when he has Harry’s attention, he dances as seductively - and stupidly - as he can using the pool cue.

Harry laughs, his cheeks turning pink. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Harry,” he says, voice as sultry as he can muster and his eyelashes batting like crazy, “how do you shoot pool?”

“I fucking hate you,” Harry says, still laughing, but he’s moving toward Louis at a comically fast speed, pushing Louis up against the side of the table. His mouth is on Louis’ before Louis can even register what’s happening. He couldn’t care less that the edge of the pool table is digging into his back; Harry tastes too good.

Harry pulls back with a smile still playing over his lips. “Wanna hear a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I wanted to kiss you like that the night we first played pool.”

Louis bites on his bottom lip. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Had to make up for it now.” He leans in and kisses him again, and when he pulls back, he says against Louis’ lips, “This was fun, even if you’re a jackass.”

Louis laughs, but he agrees. He hasn’t had this much fun in  _ years. _

(And yes, he is most definitely a jackass.)  
  


* * *

  
It’s early in the summer when Louis sits Harry down on the couch in Harry’s living room. There are leftover takeout boxes on the coffee table and it reeks of pizza. He tells Harry as much.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? That my house smells like pepperonis?”

Louis shakes his head. “A bit more serious than that.”

Harry clears his throat. “I’m nervous. Should I be nervous?”

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

Harry swallows audibly. “Louis, just spit it out.” He wrings his hands together, and Louis can tell he’s honestly uncomfortable. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do.

“Harry, we’ve been seriously seeing each other for a couple of months, and it’s just… Something is off.”

His face falls. “What are you doing.” It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement, one that Harry  _ clearly _ doesn’t want to know the answer to.

Louis is having the hardest time holding back his smirk. He’s honestly just a terrible person. The smirk slips out unintentionally. “It’s like, it’s weird, you know?” He pauses to look at Harry, whose eyes are wide and searching Louis’ face frantically. Louis bites at his bottom lip. “It’s weird that we haven’t been back home to visit my parents, or yours,” he says slowly, watching the expression on Harry’s face change. “Usually by this amount of time, aren’t couples in relationships supposed to have met the parents by now? Or get together if they already know each other, like we do?” The look on Harry’s face is absurd, a mix between relief, confusion, and hatred. Louis has to take a deep breath to keep from laughing. “So, should we call them and make plans or something?”

Harry makes a noise that vaguely sounds like choking. “Are you kidding me, Tomlinson? You’re such a prick!”

He finally lets out his laughter, stomach clenching, tears welling up in his eyes. “I had to!”

“No you fucking did  _ not _ !”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t, but the look on your face.”

“The look of sheer fucking panic! Louis, that’s not funny!” But he’s smiling now, too.

“I haven’t introduced my parents to a new boy since I was, like, 17. It’s gonna be strange.”

Harry slumps back in the couch, body tension releasing. “My parents are thrilled, if that’s anything to go by.” He adopts a higher pitched tone which is clearly supposed to be his own mom’s voice. “‘Oh, Harry, it’s about time, good grief.’"  


Louis laughs. “My parents are pretty happy, too. My mom said she was relieved to see me so happy. And she was glad that it was with you, specifically. She might love you more than me, I think.”

“Mmm. That seems to be the common theme. My dad said something pretty similar.”

He crawls to the other side of the couch and straddles Harry. “Sorry for freaking you out.” He bends down to kiss him up and down the side of his neck. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

Harry smacks him hard on the ass, enough to make his thighs jiggle. “Fuck you.”

“Christ. That’s for  _ sure _ going to leave a mark,” Louis groans, sitting up.

“I hope so. That’s what you get for being a cock.”

Louis laughs, nodding. He deserves it. “Hope you don’t talk like that when you meet my mom. Gotta make a good impression.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Met your mom when I was 14 and she’s been infatuated with me since. I could hit you with my car and she’d still ask if I wanted to stay for dinner.”

He snorts. “Unfortunately, that’s probably accurate.” He reaches for another slice of pizza, now fairly cold. “So, should we call my mom?” he asks, mouth full.

“I’ll call her,” Harry says, reaching for his phone on the end table. “She’d rather hear from me, anyway.”

“Okay, enough of that.”

“And she’s going to be on my team even more when I tell her what you just did to me. Acting like you were gonna break up with me, you absolute dick.” Louis lunges at him, shoving a pillow in his face, Harry wailing hysterically. “My poor, little heart wouldn’t be able to take it if you left me!” he shouts, his voice muffled from under the throw pillow.

Louis hits him with the pillow one final time and settles back into his position on the couch. “I know. That’s the only reason I’m sticking around. I don’t want you to go into cardiac arrest.”

Harry ignores him and dials Louis’ mom’s number. The phone isn’t on speakerphone but Louis can hear her, loud and clear, “Oh, Harry! How are you, baby?”

He rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath, “Never answers the phone like that when  _ I _ call her.”

“Shh,” Harry scolds, then turns his attention back to the phone. “Sorry, Jay, it’s just Louis being a brat as usual.”

“No surprise there,” Louis can hear her say and Harry laughs.

“Unbelievable,” Louis says, “it’s like abuse left and right.” And when he turns his attention away for  _ just _ a second, Harry gets his feet underneath Louis and shoves him off the couch. His dimple pops up from smiling so hard and there’s no way Louis can be angry.

Louis climbs back onto the couch while Jay tells Harry a story that seems never-ending and Harry looks over at Louis. He whispers nearly silently to him, “Seriously, though, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He frowns. “I didn’t mean to actually freak you out, H.”

Harry nods, and then goes back to Jay.

But that won’t do for Louis.

He slides into Harry’s lap and kisses up his jaw. Harry lolls his head to the side, can’t stop himself. “Harry, I’m yours,” he murmurs quietly enough that his mom won’t be able to hear through the phone.

“Jay, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to run. We’ll be there tomorrow for brunch! No, I’m fine, don’t worry. Okay, love you, too. Bye.” He ends the call and tosses the phone to the other end of the couch, capturing Louis’ mouth in a kiss before Louis can hear the phone hit the cushions.  
  
  
  
  
They head out around nine the next morning, Louis driving, Harry’s hair whipping around from the wind. It’s not a long drive, but it’s enough for them to get through a full album of Bastille and start on Hozier by the time they arrive.

Louis puts the car in park and gestures toward the house. “And  _ this, _ is where I grew up,” he says, as if Harry hasn’t been here hundreds upon hundreds of times.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh, is it?”

“Mhmm. Lovely, right? Do you like the cherry tree?”

“Indeed. Looks vaguely familiar.”

“Nah, you’ve never been here. Let’s go inside. You need to meet my family. No need to be nervous.”

“I think I’ll be okay.”

They make their way up the front steps together and once they reach the porch, Harry points to the wooden rocking chairs. “This was probably a good place to sit with your friends in high school. I can imagine you sitting on this chair, trying to sober up before you snuck in way after curfew.”

Louis shoves Harry with his shoulder. “That’s a pretty specific thing to come up with at a house you've never been to before.”

“Yeah, well, I can picture it.”

“No shit, because it happened.”

“How would I know that? I’ve never been here.”

“Oh,  _ now _ you want to play along.”

Harry smiles. “Let’s go meet your mom.”

They walk inside together, the AC cold on their faces, and they drop their shoes at the front door as Louis calls out, “Mom, everyone, we’re here. Come meet my new boyfriend.”

Jay makes her way down the hallway, hands clasped together. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says kissing Louis on the cheek. She turns to Harry, her eyes lighting up. Louis makes a face; Harry preens. “Harry, we haven’t seen you here in  _ so _ long!” She pulls him in for a hug, squeezing tightly.

Harry hugs back, and into her shoulder, he says, “It’s nice to meet you. Your home is beautiful.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “Awesome. You’re  _ awesome _ .”

Jay pulls back. “What is Louis making you do…”

“Nothing,” he says innocently. He looks at Louis. “Can I get a tour of the house?”

“Honestly, you two are exhausting,” she says, smacking Louis on the hip. “Go on, give him a tour, be weird. Meet us all in the kitchen after.”

Louis smirks. “Okay, let me show you the house.”

“Lead the way.”

He takes Harry upstairs first, pointing out the master bedroom as if Harry has no idea where it is, and shows him the bathroom, which Harry has used countless times. He  _ ooh _ ’s and  _ ahh _ ’s at the girls’ bedrooms and when he points to the picture of Louis at age nine hanging in the hallway, he doesn’t make fun of it like he did the first time he saw it over a decade ago. Instead, he says, “What a cute child you were. Bet you were hot shit in high school.”

Louis nods. “I was. Bet you wish you knew me then.”

“You’re right.”

They make their way to Louis’ old bedroom, which is now the room his youngest twin siblings share. “And  _ this _ is where the magic happened,” he says. “Imagine it without the stuffed animals.”

Harry raises a brow. “See, in my imagination, I always pictured your high school bedroom to have some stuffed animals, though. Including a horse named Lenny.”

Louis turns red. “I always forget you remember every fucking thing about me. It’s so annoying.”

Harry laughs. “I know this isn’t technically your bedroom anymore and it looks totally different than it used to, but if high school Harry knew that present Harry had the opportunity to kiss you in this bedroom and didn’t take it…”

Louis crowds Harry up against the door, putting his hand in Harry’s back pocket of his jeans. “You wanted to kiss me in here?”

He shrugs. “Probably.” After a moment, he nods. “Definitely.”

Louis smiles before leaning in. “Gotta give high school Harry what he wants, I suppose.”

Harry swallows. “Would be nice of you.”

He brushes their lips together lightly, just enough to barely touch, and Harry’s hands find their way up to Louis’ face, cupping his jaw. Louis deepens the kiss, his tongue making his way into Harry’s mouth, and Harry’s breathing stutters out of him, thumb on his left cheek drawing gentle circles.

Louis pulls back puts his forehead against Harry’s chest, listening to his heart beating. “Good thing I never kissed you in here before,” he says. “Probably wouldn’t have ever wanted to stop.”

Harry kisses the top of his head. “Ditto.” He bends down and kisses him briefly on the cheek and says, “Alright, back downstairs. I’m trying to get your family to like me, remember? Good first impressions and all that.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but follows Harry out the door, anyway.

Harry leads the way downstairs, remembering from all his time spent here in high school to avoid the step with a dip in it, and rounds the corner to the kitchen before Louis can catch up. He can hear Harry exclaim, “Mrs. Tomlinson! Everything looks and smells amazing! And your girls are gorgeous!”

Louis thinks his heart could burst.  
  


* * *

  
The week of the Fourth of July, Harry calls Louis on his lunch break.

“Would you be interested in going to my family’s lake house for the Fourth?”

Louis picks idly at his chips. “Um,  _ yeah _ , I would. I haven’t been there since college, I don’t think. Will your parents be there? I’d love to see them, too.”

“Mom and Robin will be there, and Gemma and her husband, too. That’s about it.”

“ _ And _ Harry and Louis and Link.”

Harry laughs. “Right, and Harry and Louis and Link.”

“It’s a plan.”  
  
  
  
  
Driving down Route 5 in the Jeep with the windows down and Link’s giant head out the back window is becoming a normal activity for Harry and Louis. It seems like they spend every spare minute driving up and down this highway, finding new spots to eat at, places to hike, water for Link to explore, or sleazy bars that make them _ swear _ they’ll never drink again. Harry is zipping down the familiar road, mini roadtrip coming to a close as they approach their destination, but this time, Louis is positively giddy with excitement. He hasn’t been to Harry’s family’s lake house in  _ years _ , nor has he spent an abundance of time with the Styles family in quite some time, and he imagines it’ll feel like coming home.

And he’s right.

The second they pull up to the house, Anne comes running outside with her arms open, smile plastered to her face, and Louis always tends to forget just how much Harry looks like his mom until she’s standing right in front of him. He pushes open his door to the Jeep, stumbling when Link jumps out and knocks him over.

“That dog seems like he’s still growing,” Anne jokes, pulling Louis in for a hug.

“My wallet would agree. Dog food is expensive.” He buries his head into her shoulder. She makes him miss his own mom. “It’s so good to see you,” he mumbles.

She rubs his back in between his shoulder blades. “Ah, missed you, Louis.”

He pulls away, embarrassed that his eyes are actually misty, and Harry takes over, hunching over to wrap his arms around her.

Louis starts unloading the Jeep as Harry catches up with his mom, Robin eventually joining them, and they make their way inside, arms full of clothing and food.

“Are you moving in?” Robin asks, raising an eyebrow, unloading the sixth bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter.

Louis tosses a bag of hot dog rolls at Harry, who manages to catch them after fumbling twice. “Hey, be nice to the guys who brought a weekend’s worth of food.”

Robin points at Louis but looks at Harry. “He’s not cooking, right?”

Louis throws his hands up in the air. “I burn Easy Mac  _ once _ and that’s  _ all _ people remember.”

“Louis, you didn’t add water. And it’s  _ Easy _ Mac. It’s, like, impossible to fuck up.”

“Whose side are you on, Harry? Huh?”

“The side that doesn’t ruin microwavable mac-n-cheese.”

“I’m going to drown you in the lake.”

Harry laughs. “I dare you.”  
  
  
  
  
Louis doesn’t drown Harry in the lake, but he  _ does _ slap him so hard on the back while Harry is asleep on his towel that he leaves a handprint. And Harry lets him off easy, only dunking him in the lake twice.

 

* * *

  
The holiday is the most fun Louis has had in a long time.

He wakes up to Harry drooling on his shoulder, Link drooling on his leg, and the sun nearly blinding him through the windows. He shakes both of them off, kissing Harry swiftly on the lips, and murmurs, “Happy birthday, America. Let’s get the fuck up.”

While Harry makes them breakfast, Louis takes a minute to look around the house in disbelief that it hasn’t changed  _ at all _ since the last time he was here. It smells the same - like fresh air and sunshine - and everything about it feels comfortable, just like he remembered it to be. Damp towels hang from the porch railings, faded pictures of Harry and Gemma from childhood crowd the living room, and the wide-plank floorboards creak with every step. Louis sits on a barstool, elbows resting on the counter, watching Harry flip pancakes.

Harry looks over his shoulder. “Hey, hand me the blueberries and strawberries.”

Louis scoffs. “What if I wanted chocolate chips?”

“Louis, honestly. It’s the Fourth of July. I’m using patriotic colors.”

Louis puts his hands up. “Oh, how stupid of me. Carry on.”  
  
  
  
  
After breakfast, they spend the morning on the beach, enjoying the hot sun and cold beer, pretending that 10 AM isn’t too early to be drinking. Link is happy to run in and out of the water, and Louis is happy to watch Harry read his new book, sunglasses perched on his nose, dragging his finger across the page.

Robin grills burgers and hot dogs to take on the boat with them for lunch, and Gemma and her husband Jason show up right as Harry and Louis are making their way down the dock with food and drinks.

Louis climbs into the boat with Link, watching on as Harry and Gemma already begin bickering over something extremely stupid, he’s sure, which ends in Gemma shrieking, “You’re an asshat!” Harry smirks and pulls her into a long hug, anyway.

Robin and Anne make their way into the boat, as well, and as Robin maneuvers his way away from the dock, Gemma takes a seat next to Louis, wrapping an arm around him. “And why are you so quiet?”

Louis hugs her back. “Just thinking.”

“Good things?”

He clears his throat. There’s no way he’s going to tell her that he’s thinking about how relaxed and calm and downright  _ happy _ he feels. “I’m thinking that I can’t believe I’m going to be trapped on a boat with you people for the rest of the day.”

She laughs. “ _ There _ he is.”  
  
  
  
  
Robin takes them around the lake, whipping in and out of the wake, everyone laughing at the way Link can’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth, saliva flying around as per usual. Harry sits up front with Jason for a while and eventually makes his way back to Louis, squinting in the sunshine. He settles in next to him, placing his hand on Louis’ bare knee, moving his thumb in slow circles. “Missed you,” he says over the sound of the wind.

“You are ridiculous,” Louis replies, but drops his head to Harry’s shoulder, anyway, cold beer in one hand, grabbing Harry’s hand in the other.  
  
  
  
  
They’re still on the boat past nine o’clock when the fireworks start up in the distance. They can hear people on the shore hollering, clapping during the finale, and Louis refuses to look away from the brightening sky, even though he can feel Harry’s gaze glued to his face, unwavering the entire time.  
  
  
  
  
It’s late by the time they get the boat put away and have showered the feel of the lake off of them. Louis is laying in bed, bedside lamp casting a yellow glow over the wood paneling of the room, and droplets of water from his shower are dripping off of the ends of his hair and down his neck. He thinks he could fall asleep just like this, half wet, half naked, lights still on.

Harry walks in, closing the door behind him quietly. His hair is slicked back from the water, face red from the steam, skin tanned evenly from the sun except for the patch of skin atop his shoulders, pink and probably hot to touch. The towel around his waist is loose and low, and Louis can’t believe how effortlessly beautiful he is. It’s not the first time he’s had that thought; it’s not even the first time he’s had that thought  _ today. _

He drops his towel, digging through his bag to find a clean pair of briefs, and Louis sits up taller in their bed. “Harry.”

He looks over, pulling the briefs on over his hips. “Louis.”

“It was a good idea, coming here.”

Harry smiles. “I think so, too. I missed my family. I’m glad we had some time with them.”

“I agree.” Louis kicks off the sheets. “Come here.”

He complies immediately, climbing onto the bed and settling on his side next to Louis. “Hi,” he whispers.

Louis smirks. “Hi.”

Harry leans across Louis and turns out the light. The room goes pitch black, but Louis’ eyes begin to adjust slowly. He slides over closer to Harry and kisses the side of his mouth. Harry exhales.

“How many nights have we spent in this bedroom?” he asks, spreading his legs apart when Louis’ hand starts to drift downward.

He hums against his neck, kissing. “I dunno. A lot.” He squeezes at Harry’s hip, sliding one finger into the waistband of his briefs. “Never like this, though.”

Harry nods, smiling. “No, never like this.” He tucks his finger under Louis’ chin and draws him in for a kiss, slow and deep. “Thought about it,” he admits when he pulls away.

Louis pulls back and kisses up and down his jaw, feeling the barely there stubble against his lips. “Thought about what?”

“Having you here with me, in my bed, doing  _ that, _ ” he says with emphasis when Louis palms at Harry’s cock through his briefs.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He goes silent again, his uneven breathing the only noise in the room. “You stopped becoming a fantasy when you became real. And somehow, it was even better.”

Louis know he’s being honest, that he intends to be sweet, but all he can focus on is the word  _ fantasy _ . He sucks a bruise into Harry’s neck, Harry groaning underneath him. “You fantasized about me?”

Harry swallows. “You know that’s not how I meant it, but, I mean, yes, sometimes I let my mind wander.”

“Wanna tell me?”

“I can show you instead, if you want.”

Louis nods. “I want.”

Harry rolls on top of Louis, straddling his hips, and grinds down lightly. Louis bites down on his own lip. “Just so you know, I still fantasize about you, but now it’s very,  _ very _ real.”

Louis grinds upward, already feeling too hot. “You’re 25, Harry, get a grip, you don’t need to jerk off to me anymore.”

Harry laughs into Louis’ neck, breath hot. “I can’t help it, now that I know what you feel like and sound like. Sometimes I’ll be sitting in traffic on the way home and I’ll start to think about how good you look spread out in front of me while I’m fucking into you and I have to actively force myself not to get hard.”

_ Jesus Christ. _ “You wanna fuck me right now?”

“I always wanna fuck you.” Harry sits up, still astride Louis’ thighs, and starts to pull down his boxers. “You have to be quiet though, baby. Gemma and Jason are across the hall and these doors are super thin.”

“Then don’t do that thing with your mouth that makes me crazy.”

Harry smirks. “But I love doing that thing with my mouth that makes you crazy.” He yanks off Louis’ boxers the rest of the way, his cock half hard, and Harry immediately takes him all the way down in his mouth.

Louis can’t help his whines. “Not even gonna need to fuck me, not when your mouth feels this good, gonna get me off.”

Harry pops off and smiles, jerking him roughly, working him to full hardness. “Already too impatient and wanna come?”

“I’m not 16,” he says through gritted teeth, pissed that Harry can always see right through him. “Do it again.”

He leans back down, licking down Louis’ length, tasting him, and Louis can’t stop the groans that slip from his lips. How could he, when Harry knows exactly which way to manipulate him, so completely in tuned to the way Louis’ body works and what Louis needs?

Harry sits up again, moving steadily over Louis’ now fully hard cock, and palming himself, when he murmurs, “Baby, you have to be quiet. I’m not kidding.” He locks his gaze with Louis when he asks, “Can you be good for me?”

Under normal circumstances, Louis would make a joke, or just make fun of Harry in general for asking such a cheesy question. But right now, the heat of Harry’s eyes on his body and the feel of his hand on his cock is enough to have him spitting out, “I can be good, I swear.”

Harry groans, dipping down to kiss the inside of his thighs, nipping, Louis bucking his hips up at the feeling. He continues kissing, making his way up Louis’ chest, up his jaw, finally landing on his lips. Louis kisses back fervently, hands carding through Harry’s curls, yanking. When Harry pulls away, Louis makes quick work of sucking a bruise into the side of Harry’s neck, only satisfied when he knows it’s a deep purple, throbbing under Louis’ touch.

Harry touches the side of his neck. “Louis, everyone is gonna be able to  _ see _ this,” he hisses. “I told you to be good.”

Louis swallows, entire body riddled with the need to get Harry inside of him. “Gonna be.”

He gets off the bed and walks toward his duffel bag, rummaging through it, looking for lube and a condom. When he turns back to face Louis, he sighs. “You have no idea how sexy you are.” It’s not a question.

Louis doesn’t know how to respond, so he just shakes his head. “Need you.” He doesn’t usually let himself get so desperate, but right now, he can’t help it. It seems to be working for Harry, and that means it’s working for  _ him, _ too.

Harry nearly dives back onto the bed, yanking off his own briefs, and immediately slides a lube-slicked finger into Louis without any warning. He arches off the bed, moaning obscenely. And the thing is, it doesn’t feel  _ that _ good yet; it’s just a finger. He knows Harry knows that, too. But he wants to put on a show, to spur Harry on, until Harry actually drives him to the point of broken sobs because he  _ knows _ he can do that. He has done that. And he will again.

Harry plays along, of course, and pinches Louis’ hip with his free hand. “I told you to be quiet,” he mumbles, hair falling in his face. “I told you to be good for me.” He slides in two more fingers, much before Louis is ready, but somehow, not being prepared makes it that much better.

This time, his moans aren’t embellished, he can’t help but arch his back off the mattress, can’t help the way he repeats Harry’s name over and over. “I’m gonna come, I’m… I’m not kidding.” He’d be embarrassed about being so close, but he can’t help it when Harry’s moving so relentlessly, silencing his pleas by pressing their lips together.

By the time Harry gets himself slicked up with the condom on, Louis is nearly panting, teeth chattering together for no apparent reason, bucking his hips up to search for any type of friction. When Harry slides in with one fluid motion, Louis has to bury his head into Harry’s shoulder to keep from waking up everyone in the house.

“Shh, baby, being so good for me,” Harry whispers, pulling himself out almost all the way and slamming back in. “Always feel so fucking amazing. So good, Lou, so good.”

Louis is unsuccessful in holding back a ragged groan when Harry brushes against his prostate repeatedly, like he doesn’t fucking know how to aim anywhere else. “You’re big,” he chokes out, as if he’s surprised, as if it’s the first time Harry has ever fucked him.

Harry slows his movements, grabbing Louis’ hands and putting them over his head, holding him down by the wrists. His hips grind inside of Louis, and it’s so much, too much. He wants to push back into it, get a hand on himself, but he  _ can’t, _ not when Harry’s entire body is covering his own, heavy, keeping him pressed down against the mattress with nowhere to go but squirming on Harry’s cock.

He means to tell Harry to let him come, let him do  _ something _ other than whine and bite his bottom lip raw, wondering how he got to this point so quickly, but instead, he begs, “Harry, fuck me harder, fuck me,  _ now. _ ”

“I’ll fuck you when I want, how I want.” His movements still, and Louis wants to punch him, but he  _ can’t _ , not when Harry is holding him so tightly. “But lucky for you,” he breathes into Louis’ neck, “what I want is for  _ you _ to get off. Are you close, baby?”

Louis can’t manage to say anything other than whisper a weak, “Yes, Harry, so close. Need to…”

Harry still isn’t moving, making no attempt to keep going. “No. You’re not going to touch yourself,” he says, as if he’s reading Louis’ mind.

He shudders; he thinks he says okay in response, but he can’t be sure.

Harry moves his hips impossibly faster then, hands still gripped tightly around Louis’ wrists, mouth biting at his jaw. “Mine, mine, you’re my boy, my good boy, right?” He sounds like he’s losing it, movements growing sloppier by the second. He lets go of Louis’ left wrist and drags his knuckle up the length of Louis’ cock, touching him for the first time since getting inside of him, and it’s the only stimulation Louis needs before he’s shooting off, clenching down, with Harry’s name on his tongue.

Harry follows suit less than a minute later, his own orgasm wracking his body with tremors, making him shout out far too loudly, and by the time he pulls out of Louis and throws the condom in the garbage, Louis has managed to compose himself enough to sit up all the way, hands in his lap.

Harry gives him a look. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Okay, but what the  _ fuck _ was that?! Your ‘good boy’?!”

He climbs back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “You liked every second of it.”

There’s no denying that. Apparently bossy Louis likes to be bossed around, himself. Interesting. “That’s not the point.”

Harry smiles. “Go to bed.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

He closes his eyes, smile still playing on his face. “Apparently,  _ I can. _ ”

Louis smacks him over the face with a pillow.  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, Louis throws a t-shirt at Harry for him to wear - to hide his enormous hickey - and they traipse downstairs, finding Gemma and Jason already in the kitchen. Jason hands them each a cup of coffee, steaming hot.

“How’d you guys sleep?” Harry asks them, stirring cream into his coffee.

“Pretty well,” Gemma says nodding, sipping at her own coffee. She turns to Louis, smirking. “How about you, good boy? I mean,  _ Louis _ . How did you sleep,  _ Louis _ .”

Coffee nearly comes out of Harry’s nose and Louis thinks if the floor opened up and swallowed him whole, he’d be eternally grateful.

Jason coughs uncomfortably before he adds, “And for the record, it’s not just  _ Louis _ who needs to learn how to keep quiet. Take your own advice, Harry.”

Harry groans and turns bright red. Louis continues to pray for lightning to strike him in the middle of the kitchen.

Gemma, still laughing, rubs her hands together evilly. “Now, you both have to pack up my car, seeing as I’m going to be holding this over your heads  _ forever. _ ”

They comply easily, knowing she would, unfortunately, follow through and blackmail them, so they begin to load up her car. Beads of sweat form on Louis’ forehead, and he grumbles, “Can’t believe you thought you had to fuck me like that. Your  _ sister _ and her  _ husband _ heard us having sex.”

Harry slams the car door shut. “You told me to fuck you like that!”

He rolls his eyes. “Glad you picked that moment to listen to me for the first time  _ ever. _ ”

“You’re welcome.”

Gemma opens the screen door to the house, then, holding a glass of lemonade, sunglasses atop her head, and she smiles sweetly. “Oh, Harry, by the way, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling but that t-shirt might as well be invisible. We could probably see your hickey from space.”  
  


* * *

  
It’s a Tuesday, this night, and it’s absolutely gorgeous outside. It’s barely 80 degrees, there’s a breeze, and it’s the kind of weather that makes Louis wish he lived closer to the ocean.

“Harry, let’s get some stuff at the grocery store to grill. It’s so nice out. We can eat dinner outside.”

Harry looks up from his spot on the couch. “Didn’t bring home any work tonight?”

“Nope, I’m all caught up.”

He nods. “Cool. Steaks?”

“And corn on the cob.”

“I can handle that.”

They make their way to the store and Louis walks up and down the aisles, tossing random objects into the cart that Harry’s pushing behind him.

“Lou, we don’t need a 24-pack of Pop-Tarts. Especially not for dinner.”

“ _ No one _ needs a 24-pack of Pop-Tarts, Harold. But I  _ want _ it.” He throws the box into the cart and keeps moving.

By the time they get to the register, they have over $100 worth of items in their cart, probably only about $35 of it needed for their dinner. Harry is reluctantly paying at the register and Louis is browsing through magazines at the exit when the manager approaches him.

“Find everything you needed?” he asks.

Louis looks up. “Uh, yeah, and then some.”

The manager - his name tag reads Matthew - laughs. “That sounds about right. I often find myself in the produce aisle, checking out the abundance of fresh veggies we have. They get shipped in every morning and it’s hard to say no. I end up with a bundle of carrots because they look so good and I’m actually  _ allergic _ to carrots.”

Louis purses his lips together, trying to fight his smile. This guy is clearly flirting with him, and doing a poor job, at that, but he isn’t doing anything wrong - yet - so Louis keeps talking. “You do have an excellent selection, Matthew.”

“You can call me Matt.”

“Friends and family nickname?”

“Typically, yeah. But it’s reserved for cute customers, too.”

Oh, Matt. Sweet Matt. No, no. Louis has to force himself to hold back a laugh. “I’m flattered,” he replies, trying not to be rude.

“So, what do you do for work?”

Safe topic. Louis tells Matt about his advertising firm, and Matt stands there, nodding earnestly, genuinely interested. Somehow, the conversation turns into Matt writing down his number on a piece of paper and handing it to Louis, just as Harry walks over with several bags filled with food.

“You ready, Lou?” Harry asks, jaw clenched, his irritated stance. It’s unbearably sexy, but Louis isn’t about to inform him of that. He’s already annoyed that Harry’s annoyed.

“Yeah, I was just talking to Matt here. He manages this store, plus the one on Main Street.”

“Well, that’s nice.” His tone makes it clear that he finds it anything  _ but _ nice. “Listen,  _ Matty, _ ” he says, sliding his hand into Louis’ back pocket, “we’ve got to get going. I promised my boyfriend that I’d make him dinner tonight. Right, baby?”

Louis is mortified. What the  _ fuck _ was that? He sucks his cheeks in. “You can get your hand out of my pocket, and then yeah, we can fucking go.” He turns back to Matt. “It was nice to meet you, Matt. I’m sure I’ll see you around again.”

Matt looks horribly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you.”

Louis walks several steps in front of Harry the whole way back to the Jeep and they’re dead silent on entire way back to Harry’s. Once Harry puts the car into park, Louis jumps out, not bothering to wait for him to turn the ignition off, and slams the door so hard, the entire body of the Jeep shakes.

He’s steaming mad, doesn’t know where to go in Harry’s house, doesn’t want to sit down. He’s standing in the kitchen contemplating his next move when Harry emerges, face stern.

“That’s okay, I’ve got the bags,” he says, face emotionless.

Louis lets out a harsh laugh. “You’re lucky I even came in the  _ house, _ never mind help you carry your fucking bags.”

“Most of this shit is for you!”

“You can fucking forget it! I don’t  _ want _ it, I don’t  _ want _ to be here! You were such an unbelievable asshole. Putting your hand in my fucking back pocket, like you were claiming your territory. You might as well have just peed all over me, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry drops the bags onto the floor. One splits open and he ignores it. “You were  _ flirting _ . I watched the entire thing.”

Louis crosses his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware carrying on a conversation and being polite qualified as cheating on you.”

“Don’t twist my words. You were flirting and I was right there and that wasn’t okay. It’s like I was invisible!”

“Okay, first of all, you can fuck right off because I  _ wasn’t _ flirting, and even if I  _ was _ , does that automatically mean that I’m gonna drop to my knees right there and suck him off?”

“Louis, shut up. I watched you take his number. You could have said you were with your boyfriend, but you just fucking  _ took _ it.”

He might actually murder him. Slowly and painfully. “You  _ watched _ him  _ attempt _ to hand me his number, which I did  _ not _ plan to take, and if you had given me a fucking second, you would have heard me say no thank you, that I was taken. But instead, you had to talk down to him like he was completely beneath you and then you basically mounted me in front of him, you  _ unbelievable _ dick. God forbid I have a conversation with someone besides you.”

Harry goes silent at that. He shifts awkwardly from his left foot to his right. He takes a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“What?” Louis sneers.

“I was a dick. You’re right.” He sits down on the floor to pick up the food that spilled out from the broken bag and he looks up at Louis. “I was so outrageously jealous. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You were jealous.” It comes out flat, not a question.

Harry nods. “I was jealous. Not my finest moment.”

“I would agree with that.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not sure what you have to be jealous of, exactly. Have I ever given you the impression that I’m interested in other people?”

“God, no.”

“Have I ever done  _ anything _ at all that says I want to fuck around with other people?”

Harry sighs. “No, Lou.”

“So you can see why I’m offended. This is a shot at my character.”

He’s still sitting on the floor, his cheeks turning red, when he says, “I finally get to have you, and I don’t want to share you with anyone. I know it’s not rational and I trust you with everything in me, but  _ fuck, _ if the idea of you being with anyone else doesn’t make me just a little bit crazy. I’m embarrassed. And I’m sorry.”

Louis  _ could _ admit that that’s one of the hottest things Harry has ever said, but instead, he walks casually to the bags of groceries on the floor, rummaging until he finds what he’s looking for. Harry doesn’t ask, just stares intently as Louis comes up with the can of Easy Cheese that Louis  _ swore _ he needed.

He uncaps the can with ease, shaking it, and sprays it directly onto Harry’s head before Harry can react. He starts moving, though, after about two seconds, screaming, rolling away.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“For treating me like your property and making an ass out of yourself.” He sprays the can of cheese into his mouth. Harry was right. This tastes like shit.

“I’m really sorry, baby.” The cheese is slipping through his hair, and he’s making zero attempt to take care of it. Louis knows he’s genuinely sorry.

“Just… Don’t pull that shit again. You know I’m yours.”

Harry perks up at that. “You are.”

“I know. Now go shower. You’re disgusting.”

“I wonder why.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes, cheese just narrowly missing dripping down onto his face. “Come with me?”

“And why would I do that. I’m perfectly clean.”  
  
Louis  _ really _ should have been prepared for the blob of cheese immediately thrown at his face just seconds afterward.  
  
  
  
  
In the shower, after all the cheese has been washed away and Harry has opened him up to four fingers, he’s holding Louis up against the tile of the shower, fucking up into him, brushing against his prostate with every other thrust.

Louis has his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, not bothering to stifle his moans, eyes squeezed shut. “Harry, so close.”

Harry’s pace is punishing, his fingertips holding Louis up by the ass digging into him, most definitely leaving marks. “I always get you there, right? Always know how to, because you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Louis gets a hand on his cock, working himself the way he knows will get him there the fastest. “Perfect team, you and me,” he pants. “We both know it. Don’t stop…”

It takes only several more thrusts for them both to come, Harry placing Louis down gently onto the shower floor, water and steam surrounding them. Water droplets drip off his eyelashes and he’s gentle when he pulls out, mouthing at Louis’ neck.

Louis drags his hands up and down Harry’s sides, his back, his shoulders. He’s so broad and Louis loves it. He could probably be coaxed into round two later on. But for now…

“Harry?”

He mumbles into Louis’ neck, still kissing.

“I still want the steak and corn.”

Harry snorts and reaches over to turn off the water. “Okay, but we’re throwing away the Easy Cheese.”

“Deal.”  
  


* * *

  
The following Tuesday around 7 o’clock, Louis wakes up wrapped in Harry’s arms. It’s no different from most mornings, except this morning in particular, he can’t get Harry off of him fast enough.

“Harry, holy shit, it’s so fucking hot in here, get  _ off _ of me,” he squirms, panting, desperate to feel anything but Harry’s naked skin on his own.

Harry groans, rolling over, and Louis expects immediate relief, but instead, he almost feels hotter.

“Seriously, I feel like I’m on fire, what the fuck,” Louis moans.

Harry sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist. “Lou, the AC kicked off in the middle of the night. And it’s July. Of course you’re hot.”

“Then why aren’t you complaining like I am?”

“Because you’re  _ always _ complaining.”

“Excuse me, I am not.” Louis pauses. “Harry, oh my God, turn the fan on, and the AC, I cannot believe how hot it is in here. I’m honestly going to choke.”

Harry laughs. “Right, you never complain.” He leans over and kisses Louis’ forehead, then frowns. “Louis, I don’t think you’re hot because the AC turned off.”

“What?” Louis pants.

“You feel really warm. Like, fever warm.”

“I’m not sick.” And as if on cue, his teeth begin chattering like crazy, goosebumps popping up all across his chest and arms.

“Aw, Lou,” Harry croons. “I’ll go get some Tylenol.”

“I don’t need any Tylenol,” Louis says, sitting up. A wave of nausea hits him.  _ Oh no _ . “Harry, just go to work. I’m fine.”  _ Go now, please _ .

“Are you gonna stay home? Do you want me to stay with you?” He’s genuinely concerned, and that makes it harder to immediately kick him out.

“No, please leave, I’ll be fine. You go. Now.”

Harry climbs out of bed cautiously, his facial expression ridiculous. He looks hurt, for the love of God. “Okay, but make sure you call me if you need anything. I don’t have much going on at work today. I can be here.”

“I’m fine, really, just…”

“Leave, I got it,” Harry finishes.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, praying away the nausea, at least until Harry makes his exit. And there  _ must _ be a God, because Louis manages to hold onto the contents in his stomach just as Harry drives off for the day.

He sits on the bathroom floor, sweating, heaving into the toilet, whilst simultaneously trying to keep Link out. His head is pounding, he’s still shaking, and all he can think about is getting back into bed, now that the AC is back on.

But that requires standing up. And that isn’t happening.

He lays down on the cool tile, and he knows it’s fairly disgusting, but it feels so nice on his overheated skin that he doesn’t feel any urgency to get up. He closes his eyes, relieved that he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get sick again.

Relief.

Apparently, Louis falls asleep, because the next thing he knows, he has warm hands on his forehead and familiar lips by his ear.

“Louis, you have to get up.”

He opens his eyes. “Harry, why are you here… What time is it?”

“2 o’clock. I took a half day. I didn’t want to leave you here alone all day. Why are you asleep on the bathroom floor?”

Louis groans. “Didn’t feel like getting up after I got sick. Harry, you’re sweet, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”

Harry slides his hands under Louis’ head, forcing him to sit up. “I know you don’t need me to, but I want to.”

He groans again. “Too good. You’re too… Hot. It’s fucking hot in here again.  _ Harry _ ,” he whines.

Harry smiles. “I’m sorry, babe. Come on. Get up. Just get back in bed and you’ll feel better.”

“But how do you  _ know _ ?” he complains.

“Because  _ anything _ is better than sleeping on your gross bathroom floor.”

Point taken.

He stands up, legs wobbly, and makes his way back to his room. It’s significantly cooler than it was the last time he was in here - thank God - and he slides into bed slowly, wincing at how rough the sheets feel on his sensitive skin.

Harry pulls the sheets up to his chest. “I’ll be out in the living room doing some work, okay? If you need me, just call. I’m right there.”

Louis is asleep before Harry even closes the bedroom door behind him.  
  
  
  
  
He wakes up three hours later to find water and Tylenol on the bedside table next to him. He takes it and promptly falls back to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
Sometime in the middle of the night, Louis wakes up when Harry climbs into the bed next to him, cautiously. He groans and slides down further into the bed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit, Lou, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Harry whispers. “Do you need anything?”

“No. Just cold,” he mumbles back.

Harry rolls over instantly, wrapping his arms around him. “Sleep.”

“Mmk.”

And he does.  
  
  
  
  
Louis doesn’t wake up fully until around 10 o’clock the next morning, and he feels impressively better. He doesn’t see Harry anywhere; assuming he went to work, Louis jumps in the shower and brushes his teeth four times over, trying to permanently erase the sick from his body.

He wanders into the kitchen and snorts when he sees the mess on the counter. Harry is constantly teasing him that  _ he’s _ the sloppy one, but the current state of this kitchen would beg to differ. Louis grabs his phone and takes a picture of it. For future reference, obviously.

That’s when he sees a text from Harry on his phone. All it says is:  _ I have Link, don’t worry _ .

Louis scratches his jaw. He hadn’t even noticed Link was gone. “You’re a bad Dog Dad,” he says out loud to no one. “Didn’t even realize your son was missing.”

He makes himself a slice of dry toast, his stomach still a little unsure, and sits down with it on the couch. Harry left the TV on before he left for work (with Link, apparently), and he sinks further into the cushions, finally comfortable for the first time in over a day.

Louis is dozing off when he hears a door slam from the driveway. He perks up, wondering if Harry took another half day. He has the words  _ Are you seriously crazy? _ on the tip of his tongue, ready, for when Harry walks in, but his thoughts die as soon as Harry makes his way through the front door.

He’s a  _ disaster _ . He’s still wearing the sweatpants he had on last night for bed, his hair is pushed back by one of Louis’ athletic headbands, and the look in his eyes is absolutely crazed.

“Harry, fuck, are you okay?” Louis gets up off the couch, immediately making his way over to Harry.

Harry shakes his head. “No. No, today was the worst morning. I’m so sorry.”

“What’s wrong… Should I panic?”

Harry sucks in his cheeks and looks up at the ceiling. “Okay, let me start this off by saying Link is going to be okay.”

Louis freezes. “So, I should panic.”

“I called out of work this morning because I wanted to stay with you just in case you still felt like shit and I knew you hadn’t eaten all day so I wanted to make you homemade chicken noodle soup and I was in the process of doing that this morning which is why everything is such a mess and  _ Lou _ .”

Louis scrunches his face up, completely confused still, and grabs Harry’s hands. “Babe, relax. Take a breath. What happened to Link?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again. “I left all the stuff for the soup on the counter and I went to check on you and then I went to the bathroom and by the time I came back, Link had eaten the entire chicken. Like, an entire raw chicken. Bones and all.”

Louis tries to hide his smile. He knows where Harry is going with this story. “I’m assuming Link is at the vet?”

Harry nods quickly. “I was so afraid he was gonna die. He ate, I don’t know, seven pounds of raw chicken. But I  _ couldn’t _ wake you up so I brought him myself and the vet gave him vomit inducing stuff and I was sitting in the waiting room hysterically laughing because  _ both _ of you were puking and the entire thing was so ridiculous and I almost  _ killed _ your dog. Your  _ Christopher _ dog. And Lou, I’m  _ so _ fucking sorry. He’s gonna be okay, they told me. But they wanted to keep him for a while and we can go back and get him tonight. Lou…”

Louis thinks Harry might genuinely cry. He yanks him down for a hug, Harry’s arms wrapping around him instinctively, his chin tucking over Louis’ shoulder. He means to tell Harry that he doesn’t blame him, that it’s not his fault. Instead, what comes out is, “Harry, I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Harry jolts back immediately. “Wait, what?”

It’s not as scary, saying this for the first time, as he thought it would be. He hasn’t told anyone outside of family and friends that he’s loved them since Chris died, but he’s been thinking it for  _ weeks _ , unsure if it was true, unsure of how and when to say it.

Now is the time, he thinks, shrugging, smiling. And now he’s sure of it, sure of Harry.

Only now is it completely obvious that they’ve been purposefully avoiding saying  _ I love you _ to one another, something they’ve been saying for  _ years _ . How did he manage to wait so long to say it? He feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in years.

“Harry, you took time out of work to take care of me, make me homemade fucking soup, and when you accidentally poisoned my dog…” He pauses to hold back a laugh. “You took him to the vet without even a second thought. You are the most caring, selfless person I’ve ever known. I love you for all of this and for a thousand other reasons… Christ, how could I not be in love with you? Honestly. I’d be crazy not to be.”

Harry’s smile is positively radiant, his cheeks pink. “Do you think you’re still contagious?” he asks, his voice wavering.

“If I say yes, will that stop you from kissing me anyway?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay, good.”

Harry moves quickly, capturing Louis in a bruising kiss, holding Louis’ face in his hands, and Louis kisses back just as fiercely. It feels freeing to tell someone how much he loves them after so many years of not doing so. To tell  _ Harry _ .

Harry pulls away, his eyes blazing. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asks breathlessly.

Louis nods with a smile. He does. He knows.


	4. Part III

As it turns out, falling in love with Harry is the easiest thing he’s ever done, once he fully allows it to happen. Harry makes his seemingly mundane life exciting, and all the things that bothered him before don’t seem to matter as much anymore, now that he has this boy warm under his hands. He doesn’t mind going to work on Monday mornings, because he knows nine out of ten times, Harry will be waiting for him at his house when he gets home. He doesn’t dread yard work like he used to; Harry typically joins in to help, and if he doesn’t, it’s because he’s standing on the edge of the property, yelling obscenities about how hot Louis looks raking the leaves while he looks on, throwing a ball for Link to fetch, Louis laughing the whole time. Even paying the bills isn’t such a shit task with Harry around. How could it be, when Harry’s in the kitchen only several feet away from him, singing whatever song is stuck in his head at the moment, whisking mix for Louis’ favorite pancakes?

It’s clearly obvious to everyone around them, too. They’re out for a guys’ night one Friday night - Louis, Harry, Liam, and Niall - at a packed sports bar. They drink cheap beer and eat spicy wings until nearly midnight, laughing at one another, shouting at the game playing on the big screen. The patrons start clearing out once the game ends and Harry stands up out of his chair.

“I’ll go shut down our tabs,” he says, stretching, his shirt rising up with his movement.

Louis leans over and pinches his exposed skin. “Wanna take care of mine and I’ll pay you back?”

Harry bats his hand away, rolling his eyes. “I was gonna take care of it, period.”

He smiles and blinks exaggeratedly. “Spoiling me, Harold.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Louis turns back to the table once Harry’s out of sight and scoffs at the faces Liam and Niall are giving him. “What?”

Liam shrugs, still making a stupid face. “I dunno. Just…” He picks at his beer bottle label. “I love how happy you guys are.”

Louis makes a gagging noise. “That’s worse than I thought.”

He laughs. “I’m serious, Lou. Do you know how hard it is to watch one of your favorite people go through something like you went through? For the past two years, you’ve been right in front of me but I  _ missed _ you.”

Louis tries to play it off like Liam is a hopeless sap - which he  _ is _ \- but there’s a lump in his throat anyway. He can’t look up when he says, “That’s enough, Payno.”

“And I never thought Harry would  _ ever _ grow the balls to finally admit that he wanted you,” Niall adds.

He snaps his head up at that. “Excuse me?”

Niall smiles, nodding. “You think I didn’t know?”

Liam laughs. “Same here.”

Louis holds his hands up. “Okay, back up. What do you guys  _ know _ ? Tell me. Now.”

“So bossy,” Liam smirks. “Don’t know what Harry has seen in you all these years.”

“I will light you on fire.”

Niall snorts. “Jesus. Okay. When I met Harry, he was always going on about his two best friends from home, Louis and Chris, Louis and Chris,  _ Louis and Chris _ . All the fucking time. But the more he talked about it, the more it was obvious that he was leaving something out, you know? So, I pried. It only took a few drinks for him to admit he had been crushing on you since high school, and he felt like a shithead because you were obviously taken, and by his best friend, nonetheless. And then he told me I was the only one who knew, but I guess that wasn’t true, seeing as Liam knew the whole time, too.”

“He never told me,” Liam says, still working on the bottle’s peel. He looks up at Louis. “I could just tell. He’s always had such a soft spot for you. The way you looked at Chris was the way Harry looked at you.” He shrugs. “He still looks at you that way.”

Louis bites at his bottom lip. “I never knew. He’s told me since then but… I just. I never saw it.”

Niall reaches into his wallet throws some money down on the table. He pushes his chair back and stands up. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re happy. And Harry… Christ, that kid is over the fucking  _ moon _ about this. He told me that, too.”

“Over the moon about what? What’d I tell you?” Harry’s voice suddenly asks from behind Louis.

“Don’t ask questions, just agree with me,” Niall instructs, patting him on the back.

“Okay, I’m over the moon.”

“Good man.”  
  
  
  
  
Back at Louis’ house, he’s laying upside down on his bed with his head where his feet are supposed to go. He can’t be bothered to take off his jeans, but he did manage to kick off his shoes the second he got through the door.

He can hear Harry in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and Louis closes his eyes. He waits for the sound of the water to turn off. When it’s silent, he calls out, “Harry?”

He looks over when he hears Harry walk into the bedroom, flicking off the bathroom light behind him. He’s shirtless and his hairline is wet, presumably from washing his face. “What’s up?”

Louis doesn’t sit up. “I’m like…” He waves his hands around in the air. “Really fucking happy.”

Harry’s smile is ridiculous. He walks over to Louis. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“I’m really fucking happy, too, Lou.”

“That’s good.” Louis is still laying upside down on the bed and Harry is still smiling; it looks like he’s frowning from Louis’ position. “Come here so I can kiss you.”

“Might be a little challenging if you’re upside down,” Harry says, but he’s already bending down.

It’s so fucking careful, this kiss, that it might not even be considered one. Harry’s lips just barely graze Louis’, tongue dragging along Louis’ bottom lip, biting at it gently. Louis is  _ sure _ there are other noises going on around them - Link moving around on his bed in the corner of the room, the steady creak of the hardwood beneath Harry’s feet, the faucet from the kitchen that never seems to stop dripping - but all Louis can hear is the sound of his breathing mingling with Harry’s.

Their lips can’t seem to line up, their movements uncoordinated, and Louis can’t get the angle he wants while he’s upside down, but the slick drag of their mouths against each other is too hot that Louis can hardly stand it. He has to turn his head to the side, making it easier to kiss Harry with full intention, and Harry gets the hint, dropping down to the mattress and climbing over Louis, bracketing Louis’ body with his own. He doesn’t grind down like he normally would after this much teasing - this kiss has been too light and fleeting to be considered anything but an absolute tease - but he  _ does _ slip his fingers into Louis’ hair, digging his nails in, his breathing sharp. Louis cups Harry’s jaw with his hands, finally getting the leverage he wants to deepen the kiss, tasting Harry.

They kiss for a while longer, long enough for Louis to go dizzy with it, and Harry is the first to break the kiss. He drops down and covers Louis’ body with his own, kissing up his neck. Louis squirms.

Harry finally sits up, pulling Louis up with him. He’s unable to look away when Harry stares at him directly in the eye and whispers, “I love you so much, I can’t even believe it.”

Louis can’t believe it, either. He drags his thumb along Harry’s bottom lip. “I love you, too.”

Harry falls down against the pillows at the head of the bed, holding one arm out for Louis to join. He’s still wearing his jeans but there is  _ no _ way he’s getting up to change now. He’ll just kick them off later, instead. He slides in next to Harry, pulling the sheets up to his chin.

“Goodnight, Spiderman,” Louis says, eyes closing.

He doesn’t have to open them to feel Harry smiling beside him.  
  


* * *

  
It’s the end of July when Louis gets a call at work, asking if he’s interested in taking over a class one night a week at the community college a few miles away from his house. Teaching was something he’d always thought about doing, but never considered it seriously. Hesitantly, he asks Harry for his opinion.

“Louis, are you serious?!” he cries.

Louis widens his eyes in surprise. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Um,  _ yes _ , it’s a good idea. You have a brilliant mind. It’d be incredible to see what you could do in front of a group of kids.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be just kids. There would be typical aged college students, but there will probably be some adults older than me, too,” Louis explains, trying to remain nonchalant, but Harry’s enthusiasm is contagious. “It’d be just one day a week. I believe the person I spoke to said Wednesday nights. It’d be an English class.”

“That’s perfect for you,” Harry says, giddy. “One day a week won’t detract from your actual job and it’d be some extra cash. Plus, it’d be exciting to try something new and I  _ know _ you’d be incredible at it. And I can come here and take care of Link until you get home. I assume you’d head straight from work to class.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Louis says, laughing. “Do  _ you _ want to take the job?”

“ _ Louis _ ,” he whines. “You have to take it.”

He nods. “Okay, yeah. I think you’re right. I’ll take it.”

“Ah! You’ll love it!” Harry exclaims.

He makes it sound so, so easy.

Turns out, it isn’t.  
  
  
  
  
After his first class, Louis feels so unprepared, he thinks it would be best if he never showed up again.

“I am in  _ way _ over my head,” he tells Harry over the phone on his way home. “This was a fucking stupid idea.”

“No, Lou,” Harry argues. Louis can hear something jingling in the background. He assumes it’s Link’s leash. “It was the first day, of course it was stressful. You’ll get better.”

“I had no idea what I was doing. It was completely humiliating. These people probably think I’m totally incapable. Like, how the fuck am I supposed to grade papers? I don’t even know what I’m looking for. What am I supposed to be doing, Harry?!”

“Louis. Listen to me. You were offered this position for specific reasons. You are qualified, you are intelligent, you show promise as a professor, you  _ got this _ .”

“No,  _ you _ listen to  _ me _ . I’m fucking freaked out that I can’t do this and you’re not being realistic. I could fail, okay? I could fail and I want to be prepared for it.”

Harry sighs. “You can’t be so pessimistic.”

“I’m  _ not _ . I’m being realistic. You just think everything is fucking incredible all the Goddamn time and it’s not real fucking life, Harry. You’re not always right, so  _ shut up _ .”

The line is silent except for Link barking briefly in the background. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you go.”

Louis groans. “Harry, I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m stressed, I’m taking it out on you.”

“Right, it’s fine, I’ll let you get back to driving.”

Louis starts to tell him that it  _ isn’t _ fine but the line goes dead. “Fuck,” Louis mumbles under his breath. “Fucking fuck.”  
  
  
  
  
When he pulls up to the house 20 minutes later, Harry’s Jeep is gone and Link is back inside the house. On the table is a small bouquet of flowers and a note attached that reads  _ Congratulations! _

Louis drops his chin to his chest. “Fuck,” he repeats once more.

It takes him about three minutes to decide to get back in the car and drive directly to Harry’s house.  
  
  
  
  
He knocks on the front door, stomach in knots, and Harry pulls it open moments later. He’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt - the one Louis likes to steal, even though it swallows him whole - and fluorescent yellow gym shorts. He looks ridiculous. Louis is so happy to see him.

He immediately barrels into his arms and on instinct, Harry wraps his arms around him, petting the back of his hair instinctively. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he mumbles into the top of Louis’ head and for fuck’s sake,  _ Harry _ is apologizing.

Louis pulls back. “How dare you apologize to me when I was being a royal asshole to you.”

Harry smiles softly. “Sorry.”

“ _ Harry _ .”

He laughs. “Go on.”

Louis looks down and links their hands together. “I’m sorry. I was such a dick. You were trying to be supportive and I took all of my own frustrations out on you. Totally not okay.”

Harry squeezes their hands together. “Not okay, but it is. I understand.”

Louis wants to lay down in traffic.  _ No one _ should be this forgiving. “Can I make you dinner?”

“I thought you were trying to apologize.”

“Oh, ha-ha, you’re hysterical.”

Harry smirks. “I already ordered Chinese. You win.”

Louis follows him inside, not letting go of his hand. He  _ does _ feel like he’s won.  
  


* * *

  
A couple of weeks later on a Friday night, Louis is up to his ears in papers to grade. He’s slowly getting the hang of this teaching thing - Harry still hasn’t said  _ I told you so _ and Louis thinks he must have superhuman strength - and he’s actually starting to enjoy himself.

Minus the grading of the papers. He would rather pull out his eyes of their sockets than grade another paper.

Harry tries to get Louis to come out with him, promising him that a night out will help clear his mind and he’ll be fresh to start over and keep grading again in the morning.

“I just want to be done tonight,” Louis says stubbornly. “I have, like, four more papers to go. I want them all done now so I don’t have to do anything else this weekend. And then I can finally pay attention to you again. But for now, this kitchen table is my home.”

Harry groans. “Ugh fine. I fucking miss you.” He leans down to kiss his jaw. He smells like cologne and shampoo. “And I miss fucking you. It’s been like… A thousand years.”

Louis pushes him off of him, laughing, but he’s right. “Please go away. I’ll finish here and then I’ll let you fuck me into next Sunday, if you want.”

Harry almost growls at that. “I want.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay then, go meet Niall. I’ll be here.”

“Ugh. Fine.” He kisses Louis swiftly on the lips and makes his way to the front door. He’s slipping on his shoes when he says, “Don’t fall asleep before I get home.”

Louis takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “No promises.”  
  
  
  
  
Harry stumbles in through the door around one in the morning as Louis is wrapping up his final paper, unaware of the late hour. He trips over a pair of boots by the door when he makes his entrance.

“Ta-da! I’m here!” he exclaims.

Louis yawns. “I can see that. Did you drive home?”

He shakes his head violently, curls bouncing. “ _ Nooo _ , Niall did.”

“Okay, good.”

Harry makes his way over to Louis and sits on the floor next to him, placing his head on Louis’ lap. “‘m gonna fuck you.”

Louis snorts. “Babe, I don’t think that’ll be happening tonight.”

He can feel Harry’s pout against his leg. “But  _ why _ ?” he whines.

“Because  _ I _ am too tired to pretend that I’m into it and  _ you _ are too drunk to be any good.”

“Um, rude.”

“And anyway, I’m not done yet. Just, like, three more paragraphs.”

“Lou, it’s so late. Let’s just go to bed. We can sleep. I’ll rub your shoulders. I wanna. Please.” He kisses Louis’ thigh, and Louis almost gives in.

Almost.

“Go get ready for bed, H. I’ll be in there right after you.”

Harry makes no attempt to move at all. Instead, he rubs in between Link’s ears, who is sleeping soundly underneath the table. “What are you grading? What was the assignment?”

Louis sighs. “We’re working on creative writing pieces. I wanted them to write a story instead of researching something. They’re not doing a bad job so far.”

“They’re all telling you their own stories?”

“Basically, yeah.” He taps his foot, hoping Harry will get the hint that he’s growing impatient and just wants to wrap up without his drunk boyfriend whining and playing 20 questions.

“Hey, Lou?”

“Christ, Harry, what?”

He squeezes Louis’ ankle through his sweatpants. “Can I tell you a story, too?”

Louis drops his head to the back of the chair. “If I say yes, will you go to bed after?”

Harry pulls at a string on his own jeans. “Mmm, yes.”

He thinks that sounds more like  _ probably _ than a definite yes, but he goes with it. “Okay, tell me your story.”

He appears to be struggling to stay awake, alcohol clearly taking a toll. He blinks slowly and heavily. “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Harry.”

Louis puts his hand through Harry’s hair, scratching. “What are you doing?”

“Shh, it’s story time,” he slurs. “As I was  _ saying _ , there was a boy named Harry. There was a boy named Louis, too. That scratching feels nice, don’t stop.”

He laughs. “I won’t.”

“And Harry and Louis were best friends. Like, obsessed with each other. And a lot of the time, all I could think about was kissing you, even when we were kids.”

Louis blushes. “You’re switching between tenses, baby.”

“You gonna punish me, Professor?”

“For the love of God,” he laughs. “Keep telling your story.”

Harry nuzzles his face back into Louis’ thigh. “There was a summer a bunch of years ago. I invited you and Chris to come to the lake for the week. It was the summer before you went to college for the first time.”

“I remember,” Louis hums. “This isn’t a made up story, Harry.”

“You didn’t say it had to be. You just said tell a story.”

Point taken. “You’re right.”

“‘course I am. So we were at the lake and I was standing at the end of the dock and out of fucking nowhere,  _ bam! _ ” Harry claps his hands together, startling both Louis and Link in the process. “You came out of nowhere and tackled me into the water, screaming the whole time. And the water was freezing and I stepped on a stupid rock and you were still shrieking in my ear and…” His already pink and blotchy face turns even redder. “And all I could remember thinking was ‘My God he is such a pain in the ass, I love him so much.’”

Louis swallows. “Really?”

He nods. “It occurred to me around then that that’s not a normal thought to have about your platonic friend, especially when he’s being a major brat.” His eyes are glassy and his breathing is shallow. Louis thinks he might fall asleep right here on the kitchen floor. “I could have happily married someone from college or work or a friend of Liam’s if Chris was still here and everything was like it used to be. I would have moved past it. My crush. I would have gotten over it. But.” He pauses to hiccup. “It wouldn’t have been right because I think I was supposed to end up with you. Possibly.” Harry looks up at Louis. “Probably.”

The unabashed sincerity in his voice and on his face is what makes Louis get up out of the chair and sit down on the floor beside him. The tile is freezing. He doesn’t care. “Probably,” he echoes back. “This is a lovely story, Harry. Best I heard all night.”

He clears his throat. “Thank you.” Dragging his hand up and down Louis’ calf, he keeps going, half whispering, eyes hooded. “I’ve always loved you. Not necessarily in a romantic way, but I did. I always loved you. There was a time within recent years that I thought that this maybe wasn’t platonic love anymore. That maybe this crush is more than that, and it’s not so under control anymore. But when I compare how I felt about you  _ then _ to how I feel about you  _ now _ …” He pinches Louis’ knee for no apparent reason. “I didn’t truly know what it  _ actually _ felt like to love you. I only had an idea of what it felt like. I know now, though.” He looks at Louis, green eyes locking with blue. “Do you think Chris would be okay with this?” he asks suddenly, a hint of wavering desperation to his voice. “Do you think he would like that we’re together now? He wouldn’t feel betrayed or anything?”

Louis can’t think of what to say, partly because he’s stunned from all of Harry’s words, partly because he asks himself that question everyday. He tangles his hands up in Harry’s. “Chris told me to find someone who loves me as much or more than he did, remember?” he whispers. “He trusted you with his life and he loved you so much. I think… I think he would be grateful that I found comfort in someone so close to both of us. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”

Harry nods, not saying anything else. He reaches out and touches Link again, movements even slower than before.

“I found more than just comfort in you, Harry,” he says, touching Harry’s chin and turning his face towards his own. “You’re the best thing that could have ever happened to me.”

He bites at his bottom lip. “I feel the same way.”

After a moment, he admits, “I don’t remember that specific day at the lake.”

Harry smiles at that. “I could probably come up with a thousand meaningless moments between us that made me think I loved you. They all blend together now.”

“Now because you’re drunk?”

“Now because I have so many of those little moments that I can’t keep track.”

Louis grins, scooting over on the floor, sliding closer to Harry. “I’ve loved you for such a long time, H. It took a really terrible thing in our lives for me to get here, for me eventually fall in love with you the way I was supposed to. And every moment of all of this with you has been… My favorite everything.”

Harry puts his head on Louis’ shoulder. “Your story was nice, too, baby,” he mumbles.

Louis laughs. “Thanks.” Suddenly, he realizes just how very tired he is. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll finish that paper in the morning.”

Harry stands up with wobbly knees, pulling Louis up with him. “My distraction tool worked.”

He yawns, patting Harry on the chest. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

They brush their teeth and change together, and when they slide under the covers side-by-side, Louis thinks that Chris would be happy to see his boys so happy.

In fact, he  __ knows.  
  


* * *

  
By the time September rolls around, Louis is offered another class that starts for the fall semester, a small promotion at his job at the advertising firm, and he’s started actively working out again, going to the gym four times a week. He’s busy, unusually so, and he doesn’t realize how quickly the fall is flying by until he gets home one night to see all of the window AC units sitting by the door leading down to his basement.

“Wait, what’s this?” he asks Harry as he throws his keys on the end table by the front door.

Harry is in the kitchen, stirring something in a sauce pan. “I’m making dinner.”

“No, not that. The AC units. Why are they all out of the windows?”

He scratches his jaw. “Because it’s almost October?”

“Oh.” He scrunches up his face. He hadn't realized how quickly the season was flying by. “Wow, you’re right. That’s a lot of work to take those out by yourself, though. I could have done it. It’s my house.”

Harry shrugs, still stirring. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a lot going on. Figured this was just easier. Besides, I spend as much time here as you do.” He takes a sip of whatever’s in the pan, and seems to be pleased with what he tastes. “I’ll take them down to the basement after we eat. I’m making chicken parm, by the way. The chicken is almost done, I’m just finishing up the sauce now.”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re something else, Styles. You really are. What, is Link freshly groomed, too?”

“No, but I wish I had thought of that. He  _ did _ get a walk in, though.”

“Unbelievable.” He walks over to Harry, gripping his elbow. “Kiss.”

Harry puts down the spoon on the counter, a trail of sauce splattering across the granite, and he cups Louis’ face in his hands. “Hi,” he says.

Louis smiles. “Hi. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He bends down to kiss him, fingertip brushing against Louis’ cheekbone.

It’s slow and just the way Louis likes it. He sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s back, squeezing in between his shoulder blades. He pulls back after a moment and looks up. “I like you.”

“Lucky me, because I like you, too.”

“ _ And _ I love you.”

Harry smiles, going back to stirring. “Even luckier, because I’m mad about you, myself.”  
  
  
  
  
And so it goes.  
  


* * *

  
Louis goes apple picking with his mom and youngest siblings at the end of September, meeting at an orchard halfway between their houses. It’s cool outside, temperatures dropping enough to pull the sweaters out from the back of the closet, and Louis carefully helps zip up is his five-year-old sister and brother’s autumn jackets before letting them take off among the trees. They zigzag up and down the orchard’s hills, twisting the apples off the branches like they were told to do, and fill up the bag rather quickly. Louis is impressed that it only took a mere ten minutes before they started working on the second round.

Jay slips her arm through Louis’. “I haven’t spent much time with you lately.”

“I know. I haven’t had much time for most things lately. I’m sorry.”

“Everything good with teaching? And with Harry?”

Louis bites into an apple, some of the juice dripping down his chin. “Teaching is amazing. I started up with a new group of kids a couple of weeks ago. It’s a sophomore level class, so we’re working on a lot of creative writing, even more than we did over the summer, and I love it.”

Jay smiles. “Knew you’d love it.”

“So did Harry.” He takes another bite of his apple. “He’s something else, honestly. Can’t believe how well this is working,” he says, squinting in the sunlight. “I keep trying not to compare him to Christopher, though, but I can’t help it.”

“What are you comparing?”

“Not, like, pitting each other up against one another or anything,” he says, clarifying. “I just think about the differences between our relationships.”

Jay bites into her own apple. “Are there any major differences?”

Louis shrugs. “They’re both so different from one another. Christopher was more like me in the sense that he couldn’t sit still and was always up in your face about something. Harry is more calm. And knows how to handle me. He’s been handling me longer than Chris did, now, at this point.” He watches as the twins dart from one row of trees to another, giggling. He smiles. “I was friends with Harry for such a long time that I think that’s what make our relationship so intense. More intense than it ever was with Chris. But, like, with Chris, there was a level of comfort that isn’t there with Harry yet, because we were together for so long.” He shrugs again. “I dunno.”

His mom seems to understand, even though most of it is complete nonsense. “Does it help to talk about this out loud? I’m sure this isn’t something you’d ever willingly want to discuss in depth with Harry.”

He nods, swallowing. “We’ve talked about it a little bit, but I don’t want to share everything.” He rubs his neck. “I feel guilty sometimes,” he admits.

“About what specifically?”

“Guilty when I think about Chris, because I’m so ridiculously happy to be with Harry that I can’t even think straight sometimes, and it’s like, nothing else matters.” He tosses his apple onto the ground. “Guilty for Harry, because I still choke up when I think about how much I miss Chris. And that I still love him with every fiber of my being.”

She nods. “You’ll always love him. I think Harry knows that. And I think we  _ all _ know Chris would be relieved to know you’re with someone he was always so crazy about.”

He tucks his hair behind his ear. “It’s okay that I love both of them, right? I’m not doing anything wrong? I just don’t understand how it’s possible to be in love with two people. It doesn’t feel right to me. It’s like…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, doesn’t know how to.

Jay reaches for his hand and squeezes. “There is absolutely nothing wrong about your situation, baby.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re my mom?”

She smiles. “No, I promise. In fact, you are leading a very lucky life. You’re very fortunate.”

Louis snorts. “How do you reckon that one?”

“Christopher and Harry were complete opposites from one another, but both equally incredible. And you get to be loved by  _ both _ of them so fiercely in just  _ one _ lifetime.”

There’s a lump in his throat. “Okay, Mom, stop.”

The twins appear then, dragging two bags completely stuffed to the top with apples behind them. They’re smiling proudly, and Jay claps her hands together. “Good work!” she exclaims. “We’ll put these in the car and then we can get cider and donuts?”

The twins cheer in response and Louis trails behind them as they sprint to the main entrance, excitedly asking if they can get pumpkins, too.

He’s spent the past two years feeling like his life was in shambles, but in this moment, he  _ does _ feel fortunate.  
  


* * *

  
It’s going to be a stormy day. Louis can tell before he even opens his eyes, based on the way Link is panting heavily in the corner of the room. Link  _ hates _ thunder; he turns into a shaking, whining baby the second the wind picks up.

Harry groans. “What’s wrong, Link?”

Link whines, drool pouring out of his mouth like a faucet when the rain starts slamming down against the windows.

Louis pulls the sheets up over his head. “He doesn’t like thunderstorms.”

“But it hasn’t even thundered yet.” And as if on cue, the sky bursts with a steady round of lightning and thunder all at once, and Link nearly loses his mind.

Louis rips the sheets off of himself and climbs out of bed, cursing. He crouches down on the ground next to Link, whispering to him, and Link almost crushes him when he barrels into Louis, slobber flinging around. “Link, seriously, up,” Louis grunts out, but Link takes that to mean as  _ squish in closer, I love you so much. _

Harry sits up in bed, laughing. “Poor buddy, look at him.”

“Um, look at  _ me! _ ” he yells through gritted teeth. But he rubs between Link’s ears, anyway.

He smiles. “Aww, you’re a softie, Lou. You let your dog the size of a Buick lay all over you because it makes him feel safe.”

“I am not. Knock it off and help me up.”

Harry slides out of bed, hair a mess, briefs hanging low on his hips. He sits down on his knees, bending down to kiss Link on the head. “Sorry the thunder is so scary, puppy. It’s okay.” His voice is soft and soothing, like the way he talks to babies, or Louis when Louis is wasted, something he will  _ never _ admit he likes.

Louis scoffs. “How about instead of sympathizing, you roll him off of me so I don’t lose all the feeling in my legs?”

“Oh, don’t listen to him, Link. He’s a grump first thing in the morning, you know that.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re sick. Seriously, my ass is getting all tingly.”

Harry waggles an eyebrow. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just asked.”

Louis can’t help the laugh he lets out. “You’re the worst. Just leave me here to die.”

“Oh, the  _ drama _ of it all. Link, up!” And Link, the son of a bitch, listens, rolling off of Louis in one swift motion.

“Is he serious…”

Harry snorts. “Not my fault he loves me more.” A clap of thunder booms outside, and Link starts whining and panting even more.

Louis frowns. “I really do hate when he’s like this, though. I can’t help him. He doesn’t understand.”

“I know, baby.” He picks himself up off of the floor and sits on the edge of the bed. “He’ll calm down.”

“Once the rain stops, he will. Hopefully.” He looks at the time of the clock on the wall. “Christ, it’s only seven. Too early. Get back in bed.”

“We should be productive,” Harry says, but his argument is weak, as he’s already sliding back under the covers.

Louis climbs in after him and tangles his arms around Harry, twirling his curls around his fingers. “Don’t think I’m gonna be able to fall back to sleep with Link in the corner wheezing like he just ran a 5k.”

Harry kisses his shoulder, bottom lip dragging across his skin. “Want me to make us some breakfast?”

“Not yet.” He swings one leg over Harry’s waist. “It’s nice in here. And warm.”

“Mhmm.” He dips down to kiss Louis, tongue swiping along his bottom lip, scratching gently at Louis’ scalp.

Kissing Harry in the morning might be one of Louis’ favorite things in his 27 years of life thus far. He loves how warm Harry is, how pliant he is, how his eyes seem softer in the glow of Louis’ bedroom before the sun fully rises. Sometimes, he’ll hit the snooze button on his phone so many times that he’ll end up being late for work, dizzy and unable to stop kissing the boy in his bed.

He’s content just to kiss, to taste Harry, dragging his fingers up and down Harry’s sides, smiling into Harry’s mouth whenever he shudders under Louis’ touch, but Harry doesn’t seem to want to be as patient. He rolls on top of Louis, straddling him, and kisses him one more time on the lips before he starts kissing down his chest. Louis threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, getting them caught in his messy curls.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much I love waking up next to you,” Harry murmurs in between kisses and bites.

Louis arches into it. “Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks up. “Music to my ears.” He kisses the spot right above the waistband of his boxers and mumbles, “So fucking in love with you. Drives me crazy sometimes.”

Louis clenches his stomach muscles and grips Harry’s hair harder. “Come up here.” Harry obeys, sitting up and wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist. The look on his face is solid and focused, like he couldn’t look away if he tried, and Louis has seen this look on Harry’s face thousands of times, and not just during the most recent months. “I love you, too,” he sighs, kissing Harry again. This time, it’s deep, dipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

He grinds his hips against Harry’s for a few minutes, feeling Harry growing harder against his thigh, his breathing pick up.

“Ah, Lou,” he hisses when Louis grinds up particularly hard.

Louis shimmies out of Harry’s grip and slides down on top of him, sitting across Harry’s thighs, and pulls down his briefs all the way. He’s almost fully hard, waiting for Louis’ mouth. Louis meets Harry’s gaze and he already looks desperate, lips parted and eyes unblinking. He bends down before Harry can get another word in and takes him in his mouth, working his tongue eagerly, and Harry is unable to hold back a groan.

Christ, he loves sex with Harry. It's like Harry’s priority is getting Louis off, and it seems to get him off in the process. He's usually in control of his actions, desperate to see Louis tip over the edge, and only then does he allow himself to let go. It's hot, quite honestly, that Harry finds so much pleasure in pleasuring Louis. Louis  _ loves _ it. He's never had sex this intense, this focused before. But what he loves even more than  _ all _ of that is when Harry is unable to keep himself together, like right now.

His hips are stuttering into Louis’ mouth, his whine is high pitched, and he keeps pushing Louis’ hair out of his eyes, so he can watch the way Louis is taking him down. It's unbearably sexy, Louis thinks, that Harry is just seconds away from fucking himself deep into Louis’ mouth, but is trying to keep  _ some _ control in the process. He's pulling on Louis’ hair, moving erratically, and Louis can tell he's close without Harry so much as breathing a word about it. He loves that he's lost control, all because of Louis’ mouth, all because of the look in Louis’ eyes.

He pulls up and gets a good look at Harry. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks are pink, the knuckles in his left hand white from gripping at the sheets. “You almost there?”

Harry groans. “What do you think?”

Louis smirks. “Can I ride you?”

“Fuck.” He looks almost pained when he grits out, “No.”

“Wait, why the fuck not?” Louis asks, palming at himself when he knows Harry is staring. He knows it’ll get to him. It does.

His cheeks grow more red and he sounds conflicted. “Quit that. Lou, I can’t fuck you when Link is…”

“When Link is what?”

“You know… Distraught from the storm. And staring at us.”

Louis hadn’t even realized Link was still there, to be honest, too caught up in getting Harry off. But now that he’s paying attention, he can see Link is still totally shaken up, jolting when another clap of thunder sounds from outside. “Harry,” he murmurs. “He’s a dog. The storm will die down and he has no idea what he’s looking at, anyway. And don’t be a hypocrite, I just sucked you off for the past 20 minutes and  _ now _ you’ve decided you don’t want to ‘traumatize’ my dog.”

Harry sits up on his elbows. “Yeah, but I don’t wanna scare him. You might freak him out with your…” He gestures around wildly. “Noises.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just because  _ I _ like the sounds you make doesn’t mean your dog will.”

“You think my sex noises are gonna scare my dog.”

“Lou, he loves you. If he’s scared something’s wrong with you, he might think I’m hurting you and he’ll attack me.”

Louis bursts out laughing. “Do you hear how crazy you sound?!” He grabs Harry’s hand and puts it on his ass, forcing him to squeeze. “Do you not want this?”

Harry falls back down onto the mattress, still holding onto Louis. “Ugh, I do.”

“Then enough of your weird animal guilt and  _ fuck me _ .”

“Okay, fine,” he says, as if it’s a chore. “But if Link looks scared _ , _ we’re stopping.”

Louis isn’t about to point out that Link  _ already _ looks scared. “Okay, whatever, get lube.”

Harry rolls onto his side, sticking his hand into the bedside table drawer without looking, having done this enough times that he’s memorized the contents of Louis’ drawer. He pins Louis down underneath him, pulling off his boxers, and by the time he works himself up to three fingers, Louis can’t stop squirming, clenching down on him.

“Get off of me, gonna ride you,” he grunts, pushing Harry off. “Gimme the condom.”

“Gonna do the honors yourself?”

Louis snorts. “Thinking fairly highly of yourself if you think that putting a condom on you is considered an honor.” He rolls it down, Harry bucking up into his fist.

He situates himself over Harry’s hips, sinking down slowly, gritting his teeth through it. It doesn’t take long for him to angle it perfectly, though, and he can’t help the ragged moan he lets out at the feeling. Harry puts his right hand on Louis’ ass, squeezing and gripping him tightly, helping him rotate his hips.

Louis starts to build up a steady rhythm, grinding down with precision, and it’s getting _ so good _ when Harry barks out a laugh. Louis looks down, halting his movements immediately, and Harry has a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter. His eyes are crinkled, his body is shaking.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He clenches down around Harry, unable to help himself.

“Baby, I’m sorry, you feel amazing.” Harry runs his hands up and down Louis’ thighs, touching him like he’s fragile. “So perfect.”

“Then seriously, what the hell?”

Harry swallows, trying not to laugh again. “Link won’t stop staring at us.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “He’s a dog! It doesn’t matter!”

“No, I know it doesn’t matter, but  _ look _ at him.”

“I don’t want to! You’re literally inside of me. I don’t want to focus on Link _. _ ”

Link hears his name and perks up, apparently misinterpreting Louis’ complaint as a command. He trots over to them and puts his head on the edge of the bed, shaking less now that the rain has died down. His drool, on the other hand, is still out of control.

Harry starts laughing again, deep from his belly, head thrown back into the pillow. “Louis, I can’t fuck you when your dog is essentially on the bed with us. I…” He starts up his laughter once more, and Louis slaps him across the chest, but now he’s laughing, too.

“This is your fault! I wouldn’t have even noticed and we’d already be done by now!” He isn’t mad - actually thinks it’s almost as funny as Harry does - and rocks back and forth on Harry’s cock, just a little bit, to make sure Harry is still interested.

He is.

Harry grips Louis hips and lifts him up, letting him slam back down, and they both groan together. “Seriously, Lou, he’s  _ right _ here.”

“Okay, then, move over a little bit, and he won’t be breathing in your face anymore.”

Louis is moving through the air before he realizes what’s happening, landing flat on his back, Harry hovering above him. “Hi,” he whispers, bending down to kiss up his jaw.

“Hi. Fuck me.”

Harry smirks. “Okay. I can do that.”

Turns out, he can’t do it  _ well, _ still laughing with each thrust every time Link pants. “Feels so good, oh my God, Link shut  _ up. _ ”

Louis buries his head into Harry’s neck, trying to stifle his own laughs, body confused as to what sensation to give into. “‘m close, Harry, keep going.”

Harry thrusts harder, dropping down to his elbows, and when Louis starts to whimper, Link actually starts fucking  _ barking _ and Louis nearly snorts he’s laughing so hard, coming all over his hand simultaneously. Harry pulls out and rips off the condom, pumping his fist over himself, adding to the already there mess on Louis’ belly, own breathing choppy from laughter, tears in his eyes.

He pulls out, rolling onto his back next to Louis, and grabs his hand, kissing the back of it. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m not, really.”

Louis smiles, pulling his hand away. “I hate you. I hate my dog.”

“You love both of us so much.”

He grabs his boxers from the end of the bed and slides into them, wiping off his stomach with a tissue. “Eh. I love the one I birthed and raised.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow. “How did you manage that one?”

Louis ignores him. “C’mon, Link. I’ll feed you. Harry’s gonna stay in here and think about the poor life choices he just made. Honestly, Harold, fucking me in front of my child. He has  _ feelings, _ you know. Can't believe you.”

He hops out of bed and directs Link out of the bedroom door before Harry has time to protest, and when he makes his way to the kitchen, he’s still grinning.

Link is calm now that there’s a bowl in front of him and the storm has ceased, and Louis leans against the refrigerator door, furrowing his brows. “You’re a big baby,” he says. “Can’t ever give me any  _ me _ time.”

Links ignores him, obviously.

He spots his phone on the counter where he left it the night before and grabs it while he waits for Link to finish up. There’s a missed call and a voicemail, both from Maggie Wells.

His stomach drops and he frowns. Why is Chris’ mom calling him?

He taps in his passcode and immediately goes to his voicemail. He silently tells his stomach to quit it with the nerves when he holds the phone up to his ear to listen.

“Hi, honey, it’s Maggie. I hope you’re doing well, we haven’t heard from you in a while! We miss you, Lou.” She pauses to clear her throat and Louis swallows heavily. “I figured we would have heard from you by now, you know, to celebrate Chris’ birthday like we’ve been doing, but if you’re busy, that’s okay. We’ll save a place at the table for you just in case, and if not, we can catch up another time. Okay, baby, take care, and happy Chris’ birthday! Love you.”  _ Click. _

Louis exits the voicemail and frantically checks the time of the call, followed by the date on his phone. It reads October 2nd, and instantly, he feels like he’s suffocating. He  _ missed _ Christopher’s birthday. Every year since high school, even after Chris had passed, Louis has spent the first day of October at Chris’ childhood home, celebrating, laughing, eating cake. His family carried on the tradition when he died as a way to focus on his life rather than his death, and they’ve  _ always _ included Louis.

Even when Louis fucking forgot.

He listens to the voicemail again, and then one more time after that, and suddenly, nothing about this morning is funny anymore.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next week, Louis can’t think of anything other than his call from Maggie.

He’d called her back after Harry went back to his house, and told her how sorry he was that he didn’t make it and hadn’t called. He told her all about his promotion, and blamed it on that. She understood, of course, and asked to see him a different night. Louis forced himself to say yes, and they planned to meet up for dinner within the month.

The entire thing left him feeling uneasy and wracked with nerves.

He has to laugh every time he thinks about his conversation with his mom at the apple orchard; almost like an ironic precursor. It’s as if the universe knew he was going to fuck up, going to forget his late husband’s birthday. It’s haunting. If he felt guilty before October 2nd, it’s  _ nothing _ compared to how he feels now.

He’s looking around his bedroom late one night and suddenly, he realizes it’s like Harry unofficially moved in, erasing Chris from the picture. Harry’s sweatshirt is hanging off the closet doorknob, his sneakers and boots under the window, his headbands on the nightstand. Louis sucks his cheeks in, walking to the closet, and he yanks open the door. Harry has as many clothes hanging up as Louis does, and Louis frantically pushes it all aside, looking in the back of the closet for the items of Chris’ he kept after he died.

They’re still there. Okay. That’s good.  _ Breathe. _

He walks out into the living room and Harry is sitting on the couch, slightly bent over as he pets Link, watching something on TBS. He looks up when he hears Louis.

“Gonna come join your boys?”

Louis tries to smile, but it comes out like a grimace. “Sure.” He sits down beside Harry and stares at the TV, unable to focus on whatever’s playing. Harry’s hand around his shoulder feels heavier than usual. He tries to nudge him away, but he can’t seem to make his limbs work.

They sit like that for a while, unmoving, unspeaking. Harry seems oblivious to the fact that Louis’ mind is racing with too many thoughts that he can’t shut off. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose; when did his palms get so sweaty? He wonders how it’s possible for Harry to ignore how unnatural his breathing is. It sounds so out of place. Maybe it’s all in Louis’ head.

He feels like the photos on the wall are staring at him. He tries to avoid looking directly at them, but he can see them out of the corner of his eye, following him no matter which direction he looks in. He grows unbearably tense, clenching his fist. That’s when Harry finally notices.

“You alright, baby?”

Louis clears his throat, unable to look at Harry. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“What are you looking at?”

He realizes his gaze is locked on the picture wall. So much for successfully staring elsewhere. “Um, just looking at the pictures.” He tries to swallow. “Girls are getting big.”

Harry nods, still seemingly oblivious.  _ How? _ “Still love that picture of you and me and Chris at a Halloween party as the Three Musketeers. People thought we were so fucking weird.”

“Probably.”

“We should update the picture.”

Louis looks up at that. “Why would we do that?”

“Because we were babies. We can retake it at the Halloween party this year.”

He clenches his fist harder. Chris won’t be there to retake the picture. “What Halloween party?”

Harry shrugs. “I started asking around if anyone wanted to come to our place for a party. Thought it would be fun.”

“This isn’t  _ our _ place. You don’t live here.”

Louis watches as Harry goes from cautious to downright uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. “No, not technically, but I’m always here, and I figured it was an unspoken agreement that I’d eventually move in with you.”

“Why would you ever assume that?”

Harry frowns. “Because we’re together and I wouldn’t ask you to move Link and I love you. It’s the next logical step, I thought.”

“This is my house. Chris and I bought this together.”

“Louis.” He doesn’t say anything else, treading lightly.

Louis bites at his bottom lip. “We’re not updating the photos. Are you gonna ask me to take down my wedding picture next?”

Harry touches Louis’ knee and Louis jolts back like he’s been burned. “You don’t have to take it down unless you want to,” he says gently.

“I don’t want to. I’ll never want to.”

“That’s fine, I’m not asking you to, but what the fuck is going on?” He runs his fingers through his hair uneasily, a nervous habit. He did it throughout their entire first date. Louis doesn’t find it as endearing now.

He climbs off the couch and stands in front of the pictures, like he’s guarding them. “You’re forcing me to get rid of Christopher. I was fucking married to him, or did you forget?”  _ Like I did, _ he thinks, lump in his throat.

Harry stands up, too, but he doesn’t take any steps towards Louis. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Louis snorts. “Of course you fucking don’t. You’re too busy planning parties in  _ my _ house, pretending you live here, too busy replacing pictures of my dead husband, too busy replacing his stuff with your own shit. On what fucking universe would you  _ ever _ think that was okay?”

Harry takes several giants steps toward him and grabs his wrists. Louis hadn’t realized he was shaking until right now. “Louis, you’re scaring me. What happened?”

He tries to break free of Harry’s grip but he’s so  _ fucking _ strong. “You’re trying to erase Christopher so you can finally have me all to yourself, just like you always fucking wanted. He was your Goddamned best friend and you’re doing everything you can to make sure it feels like he never fucking existed. It’s disgusting. Christ, it’s not Chris’ fault that you’ve always been obsessed with me. He doesn’t deserve this shit.”

Harry drops Louis’ wrists at that. His face is red. “I know you don’t mean any of that. That’s not true.”

“I meant every word.”

He runs his hand through his hair again. “You  _ know _ none of that is true. But if you really thought that, I’m pretty fucking confused as to what we’ve been doing for the past six months.”

Louis can’t look at Harry when he says, “I feel fucking guilty that I let you waltz in here and take over, playing house with me. Christopher would die all over again if he knew what we’d been doing since April.”

“What happened to ‘Chris would  _ love _ the idea of us together’?”

He shakes his head. “Chris would be disgusted that I let you manipulate me into being with you because I was vulnerable and you could finally have me all to yourself. Took you a decade, but you finally fucking got it.” Harry’s bottom lip is trembling, and Louis hates it, but he can’t stop. “For the record, if Chris never died,  _ this _ would have never happened.  _ We _ would not be a thing and I would be so fucking happy for that.”

Harry steps back, breathing shallow. He’s trying not to cry, Louis can tell, and he’s pretty close, too. “I know,” he whispers. “I know we wouldn’t be together. And thinking about that breaks my heart because I love you so fucking much, it  _ scares _ me. But I… I didn’t manipulate you into  _ anything, _ Louis. Why would you ever say that? That’s so unfair.”

“No, what’s unfair is that you can go home after you fuck me and you have no hard feelings and no guilt about it while I sit here and try not to scream my lungs out that I just fucked my dead husband’s best friend in the bed I used to share with him. And that I can tell you I love you in that  _ fucking _ bed and you tell me back and it hurts all over that I used to do that with him and I let you  _ replace _ him in a matter of what felt like  _ seconds. _ ”

He looks like he could throw something, break something, break Louis. “You have never once said  _ any _ of this. I’m not a fucking mind reader, Louis, how the hell am I supposed to know this?!”

_ Because this past week has left me feeling like the biggest piece of shit and I didn’t know how to tell you. I knew you’d try to fix it and I don’t know if you can. You weren’t supposed to know. _ “Because you never feel guilty about anything, and this is so fucking easy for you!” he shouts. “And then I’m alone with my own fucking thoughts and the more I think about it, the more I hate you for it!”

“You hate me?”

Louis starts crying, can’t hold it back anymore, and he’s about to tell Harry that he’s gone way too far, he doesn’t mean it, when Harry says, “You think this is easy for me? You don’t think I feel guilty for not wishing my dead best friend was still alive, if it means I get to have you?”

The look on his face makes it clear he didn’t mean for that to come out, but Louis doesn’t care. Any ounce of sadness he had is gone. “You can get out.”

Harry steps toward him, tears sliding down his own cheeks, and he reaches out to touch Louis. Louis moves away, backing up into the photos. One of the frames digs into his back. “Louis, fuck, I…”

“No. You need to get the fuck out.”

“Louis.” His voice breaks. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. “Please. I can’t… I can’t lose you now that I know what it’s like to have you. I’m not above begging. Don’t do this. We can fix whatever’s happening here. I want to. You want to, too. Just.”

Whenever Louis looks back on this moment for the rest of his life, he’ll never understand how he managed to keep his tone so steady, his eyes locked on Harry’s. “I’m not above begging, either. And I’m begging you to get the fuck out of my house. Do not come back here.”

Harry sucks in a breath and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lou, please don’t break my heart,” he whispers, his eyes filling up once again.

When Louis doesn’t answer or look at him, Harry finally turns away and doesn’t look back when he walks out the front door. Louis hears the Jeep pull away, and that’s when he finally allows himself to break. He grips the first picture he touches hanging on the wall behind him, not bothering to look which one he’s just yanked down, and throws it across the room, watching it smash against the opposite wall.

Louis blinks the tears out of his eyes when he sees the ruined photo is of himself and Chris during college years, but he absolutely falls apart when he remembers who took it.  
  


* * *

  
Louis wakes up the next morning with a blinding headache and a pit in his stomach. He nearly forgets why until the vision of Harry standing in front of him, crying, comes flooding back to him.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone, hoping there isn’t a trace of Harry.

Nothing. He lets out a sigh of relief, but the pit in his stomach grows.

The more he replays last night’s events in his head, the angrier he becomes. Angrier at himself, at Harry, at Chris, at the entire situation for playing out the way it did. Everything escalated so quickly, and he ended up spewing comments that he didn’t even know he was capable of.

But Harry. Harry takes the cake for that  _ one _ comment at the end, just before Louis kicked him out. Every time Louis thinks about it, he has to stop himself from punching a wall.

He’s angry, so, so angry, in complete denial that he just broke up with Harry, the only sane thing in his life, and it doesn’t occur to him until three nights later that he’s currently caught between stages one and two of grieving. And fuck, if it doesn’t feel all too familiar.  
  


* * *

  
The first week is easy.

At least, that ’s what Louis tricks himself into thinking.

Seven days pass without hearing a single word from Harry and he’s grateful. The heaviness in his chest eases with each passing hour. They’ve never gone this long without speaking since meeting, and though that fact is prominent in Louis’ mind, not speaking makes it easier to push forward and be okay.

Or act like he’s okay. Whatever.

Niall calls him after class that Wednesday night, asking what the fuck happened.

“I dunno,” Louis says, picking at leftover pizza from the night prior. He tosses the crust onto the floor for Link. Harry always scolds him for that. “It just… Wasn’t working.”

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Niall. It’s just over, okay?” He hopes Niall didn’t catch the tremor in his voice.

Niall scoffs. “Get your shit together. His heart is absolutely broken. It’s like watching you when Chris died all over again.”

Louis nearly sees red. “Don’t you  _ dare _ compare a breakup of six months to my fucking marriage, you got that?” He hangs up, not caring what else Niall had to say.

He’s done for the night.  
  


* * *

  
A few days before Halloween, Louis makes the executive decision to scrub Harry from his house. He wants to push through this breakup gracefully and with  _ some _ dignity. So, he takes down pictures, bags up his clothing, and snaps and throws away Harry’s ugly pair of $8 reading glasses he left on the nightstand. He does so with zero emotion, tying up each garbage bag with a blank look on his face and an empty mind.

It takes him over three hours, and by the time he’s done, he doesn’t feel any better. The hope was that cleansing the house of Harry Styles would feel cathartic, would get rid of the itch inside of him that he can’t seem to relieve. Rather, he feels the same as he did before: stuck and void of any feeling other than… Lifeless.

It occurs to him while he’s placing the third garbage bag by the front door that he hasn’t left the house - with the exception of work and to walk Link around the neighborhood - since the day Harry left. He vaguely remembers his therapist gently telling him after Chris died that isolation was in the first phase of grieving.

Louis swallows heavily. He is  _ not _ grieving. This is  _ not _ the same situation.

He grabs his phone and dials a number he knows by heart. A voice he’s missed for way too long answers.

“Louis? How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, Maggie.” His eyes are already starting to well up. “I’m doing okay. I, um.” He shuffles from one foot to the other, watching as Link scratches behind his ear. “I was wondering if we could take that raincheck for dinner now. Like, tonight, if you aren’t busy.”

Maggie clearly catches the desperation in his voice. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

He clears his throat. “It’s nothing. I just feel shitty since I wasn’t able to make it for Chris’ actual birthday dinner and wanted to see you guys as soon as possible.” Well, it’s only  _ half _ a lie.

“Of course, Lou. There’s a restaurant about halfway between us that Rich and I have been dying to try out, if you wanted to meet us there later tonight. Do you want us to invite Carly along, too?”

Louis feels a new wave of guilt hit him. He hasn’t spoken to Chris’ older sister in nearly a year. “Yes, ask Carly.”

“Okay, baby. We’ll see you around seven?”

“Perfect.”

He says goodbye and hangs up, taking a deep breath, steadying himself against the wall, and only curses three times when he trips over the garbage bags filled with Harry’s things on the way to the shower.  
  
  
  
  
Sitting next to Chris’ family, Louis feels like he can breathe for the first time in weeks. He’s always been comfortable in their presence, like he belonged as a member of the family. Even with Chris gone, it still feels all too familiar, and for that, he’s grateful.

After long embraces, Louis and the Wells family spend the next hour and a half mindlessly picking at Italian food, chatting about Carly’s upcoming nuptials to her longterm boyfriend Ian, the addition to the kitchen Rich has been working on since March, and Louis’ new job.

It all feels so calm and familiar, so regular and  _ happy, _ Louis forgets he has anything wrong going on in his personal life.

Maggie picks her napkin up off of her lap and puts it on the table. “So, it’s been almost three years.”

Louis looks down at his plate. “December first, yup.”

She hums. “You know, that’s an acceptable amount of time for you to… Start dating again, love.”

He perks up at that. “Actually, I am. Harry.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Carly raises a brow. “Styles?”

Fuck. What’s he supposed to do now, say he’s just kidding? He pushes his hair out of his eyes and decides to just roll with it. “Uh, yeah.”

Her face breaks out into a smile and Louis wants to die. “For how long?”

“Since about April.”  _ Let the lies keep on coming. _

“Why didn't you bring him tonight?”

“Uh, he had something to do.”

Maggie doesn't seem to catch his hesitation and her smile is watery when she clasps her hands together. “That is… God, Louis. Christopher would be ecstatic to know that.”

_ Would he be ecstatic to know I’m lying through my teeth right now? _ he thinks. “Really?” is what comes out instead.

“His favorite person is taking care of his favorite person,” Maggie murmurs. “Of  _ course _ he would be excited over that.”

Louis nods, his own tears coming. His head is starting to hurt. “I hope so,” he whispers.

They stay at the restaurant for another hour, Louis desperate to avoid Harry’s name at every turn, and by the time he says goodbye and climbs into his car, his hands are trembling.

He hasn’t tried to speak to Niall since he hung up on him earlier in the week, and Niall hasn’t attempted to contact him, either, but he needs to talk to him now.

Niall answers on the fourth ring. “Louis,” he says, his voice even.

“I just went out for dinner with Maggie and Rich and Carly,” he says, embarrassed that he’s already full-blown crying, but he can’t stop it.

Niall seems to take pity. “Did something happen, Lou?”

“They asked me if I was dating anyone and I didn’t even fucking  _ hesitate, _ Niall. I totally  _ forgot _ that I wasn’t with him. I just… I told them I was with Harry like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t treated him like  _ shit _ and told him to get the fuck out of my house.” It’s cold enough outside that he can see his breath when he exhales deeply. “And then I just kept  _ going _ because it was the first time in weeks that I didn’t feel like I was going to fall apart.”

“Have you called Harry? I think maybe you should.” His voice is soft, almost like he’s whispering. Louis doesn’t know if it’s meant to be soothing, but it is.

“I can’t call Harry, okay?! I didn’t  _ remember _ Christopher’s birthday and I’m starting to forget what it felt like to be around him and to be married to him and that isn’t Harry’s fault but I blamed it all on him and  _ fuck. _ ” His chest is heaving and he needs to start driving but he can’t focus. “It’s not Harry’s job to take care of me and put me back together and if I call him, that’s what he’ll end up doing because he cares too much and he loves too hard and I…” He trails off, unable to formulate anything else. “What the fuck did I do?”

“Listen to me,” Niall says, voice louder now. “Harry doesn’t take care of you because he feels obligated to. He does it because he’s fucking in love with you. Even before you two were together, he would have done anything for you. Why didn’t you just  _ tell _ him anything was bothering you, Lou? Jesus.”

Louis clutches his phone harder. “I don’t know,  _ I don’t know, _ and if I had, I wouldn’t have blown up in his face, and he could have gone to dinner with me tonight and I wouldn’t be panicking over the phone right now, for the love of God.” He tries and fails to get his heart to stop racing. “If I hadn’t been such a fucking coward and I just told him, I wouldn’t be one second away from driving straight on into traffic and I wouldn’t be pretending I was still dating him because it’s the only way I…” His voice gives out again, and Niall doesn’t bother asking.

“Don’t play the ‘what if’ game. Just call him or go to his house or move on. Stop doing  _ this. _ ”

He looks up to the ceiling of the car. “I should have called Liam.”

Niall huffs out a laugh. “Probably.”

Louis is quiet for the next several moments, just focusing on breathing. Eventually, he says, “I’m sorry I hung up on you the other day.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going through some shit.”

“I guess.” He rubs his eyes. “Do you really think I should call him? Have you talked to him?” He sucks in his cheeks. “Is he doing okay?”

“I’ve talked to him. You should call him. Even if it’s just to tell him you’re completely done and want to be friends. Or nothing. It’s not fair to leave him completely in the dark. He deserves closure, if that’s what you’re aiming for, you know?”

Louis doesn’t bother asking how Harry is again. He can assume. He sighs. “I know. I guess.”

“Go home, Louis. Go to bed and sort your head out and next weekend we can go out.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“‘Course.”  
  
  
  
  
When Louis gets home, he hates that the porch light isn’t on. It’s so dark outside and he never remembers to turn it on before he leaves the house.

Harry always remembers.

He nudges the door open with his elbow and his eyes are immediately drawn to the pile of  _ shit _ he’d compiled before he left the house.

“Fuck,” he says. He’s tired, so, so tired.

It’s while he’s standing there, staring at the garbage bags, that he realizing he’s entering stage three of grieving - bargaining, wondering, and playing the  _ what if _ game - and he absolutely hates how he can recognize it. It’s like it’s entering in waves, knocking him down right as he’s picking himself back up again.

He doesn’t empty the garbage bags or put the items back where they belong or bring them outside to the curb, but he  _ does _ drag them back into his bedroom. He puts them next to the bed and he falls asleep before he can figure out what to do with him, forever wrestling with his mind.  
  


* * *

  
The night of Halloween, Louis manages to get one foot into his pirate costume before he decides that it’s a horrible idea. He texts Niall and tells him to forget their plans and spends the rest of the night alone on the couch, trying not to stare at the half empty photo wall next to the TV. Eventually, he puts a bowl filled with candy on his front steps so he doesn’t have to talk to anyone at all.

* * *

  
Louis hates Daylight Saving Time in the autumn, just like everyone else does. He hates that the sun wakes him up an hour earlier, that it’s dark for his commute on the way home, and that it’s been about a month without Harry.

He knows that has nothing to do with Daylight Saving Time, but he’s so tired of blaming himself. He wants to blame it on something that’s beyond his control and out of his reach.

It’s around 3:30 in the afternoon when he realizes his cabinets are completely bare. No food, no drinks, no nothing. He hasn’t been eating much, but he has to eat  _ something, _ and the expired pears in the back of the refrigerator probably won’t cut it.

He lets Link outside on his way out, checking to make sure the gate is closed behind him, and he heads to the grocery store, the absolute  _ last _ thing he wants to be doing on a Sunday.

The store isn’t too packed and he’s able to make it to the checkout counter rather quickly, dumping a week’s worth of food on the conveyor belt in front of him. He’s watching the cashier scan a box of cereal when none other than Manager Matty approaches him, smile warm and body bouncing with every step.

Louis has to force himself not to groan.  _ Son of a bitch. _

“Louis, how are you doing?” he asks, hand outstretched for a handshake. “Shopping alone tonight?”

He forces an uncomfortable laugh. Matt doesn’t seem to notice. “Yep, just me tonight.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Louis looks back to the cashier, who’s giving him a look that screams  _ I’m sorry _ . “Nope, I’m all set. Just gonna grab my stuff and head home.”

Matt hums. “No boyfriend with you?”

“I said I was here alone.”

He holds up his hands. “No need to be hostile. Enjoy your groceries.”

Louis thinks back to the last time he was in this position, and how badly he’d wanted to punch Harry straight in the jaw for his behavior. This time, with this dick’s condescending - and not to mention unprofessional - tone, Louis  _ wishes _ Harry was here, shoving his hand in Louis’ back pocket.

“I will. Thanks,” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He grabs his bags and heads out the door, pissed that Manager Matt exists, pissed that he just spent $70 on food he knows he won’t eat, pissed that it’s already pitch black outside at 4:31 PM.  
  
  
  
  
When he pulls up to the front of his house ten minutes later, the first thing that he notices in the darkness is that the gate is wide open. Louis gets out of the car carrying as many bags as he can hold and tries to peer into the backyard, but it’s too fucking dark. He can’t see a damn thing.

_ It would help if the porch light was on, _ he thinks bitterly to himself.

“Link?” Louis calls out. He doesn’t hear any rustling in the backyard at all. He drops the bags on the front steps and jogs around back. “Link!” he tries again.

Nothing.

“Fuck!” he yells out. “Link!”

Louis frantically runs inside, yanking open several draws in the kitchen to look for a flashlight. He comes up empty until he remembers Harry had put them in the nightstand next to the bed a few months ago. His argument was, “Well, what happens if the power goes out in the middle of the night and you can’t see anything? You’ll be happy you aren’t rummaging through drawers filled with knives in the kitchen looking for one.”

“Shut  _ up, _ Harry,” Louis had said. He also says it out loud again now.

He heads back outside, still calling Link’s name, shining the flashlight in every which direction. No Link. Shit, shit,  _ shit. _

Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing Harry’s number with shaky hands.

“Lou?” Harry asks after the second ring. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Louis  _ hates _ that Harry has to assume something’s wrong for Louis to be calling him. How could this much have possibly changed in just four weeks? “No, I’m not, I’m…” His voice doesn’t sound like his own and his teeth are chattering together. It’s not even that cold yet.

“Louis, calm down, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t calm down, because Link got out and I wasn’t home and the latch was undone and that stupid fucker Matt from the grocery store wouldn’t stop hitting on me and it’s so dark out and I can’t see anything and I can’t find my dog and I’m  _ freaking out. _ ” The amount of times he’s cried in the past month is bordering insanity, at this point. And he can’t stop it from coming now, either.

“I’m coming.” He doesn’t add anything else, and he hangs up.

Louis lets out a pathetic whimper and pockets his phone, calling out Link’s name again, shrill and loud, and his throat is already hoarse.

He’s still screaming Link’s name, walking in aimless circles, when he hears the familiar rumble of the Jeep coming up behind him. He turns around as Harry is climbing out, holding the biggest flashlight Louis has  _ ever _ seen and he can’t help but run right to him, barreling into his arms.

Harry wraps his arms around him on instinct, petting his hair, whispering, “We’ll get him. It’s okay. Come on, let’s go. He’s probably down the trail behind your house. Did you look there yet?”

Louis’ shoulders are shaking and he can’t bring himself to pull away or answer any questions, so he squeezes tighter and stays silent. He has to bite his tongue to stop from saying how much he missed the smell of Harry’s t-shirts and cologne, the way his arms tighten around him. Harry doesn’t force him away and continues to rub his hands up and down Louis’ back. Louis thinks he could stand here all night, Link be damned.

_ Link. _

He forces himself to step back and he looks up, meeting Harry’s gaze for the first time, and he looks like hell. His eyes are bloodshot, the circles under his eyes are purple, his flyaways out of control. He can’t stop staring; his face is perfect and Louis hates him for it. “Thank you for helping me find my stupid dog.”

Harry’s smile is forced and lopsided. “Haven’t found him yet.”

Louis swallows. “Let’s go, then.”

They traipse through the property together, Harry’s flashlight nearly blinding compared to Louis’, and Harry leads once they get to the trail. It connects to most of the houses on his street and at the end of the trail, there’s a small pond. Louis knows, logically, that Link hasn’t drowned in the water, that he’s probably trotting through Mrs. Bradley’s bed of roses  _ again, _ but he can’t keep his thoughts from going there, anyway.

“Louis, he’s okay,” Harry says, breaking the silence, as if he can read Louis’ thoughts.

He shrugs, breathing heavily. “But what if something happened and it’s my fault because I didn’t close the gate all the way? He never runs away, ever. And it’s my fault and…”

Harry grabs his hand and squeezes briefly before he lets go. “He is  _ fine. _ ”

Louis believes him.

They keep moving, shining their lights through brush and leaves, Louis shouting Link’s name until he physically can’t anymore, and that's when Harry clears his throat.

“Hey. Lou. Look over there.” He aims his flashlight at the base of a pine tree, and Louis nearly cries when he sees a mound of white and brown fur.

He surges forward, dropping down onto his knees in front of a sleeping Link and puts his forehead against the dog’s. “What the fuck are you doing?!” he cries, voice raw and scratchy.

Link opens his eyes and pants, rolling over onto his back, and Louis thinks he actually  _ might _ drown him in the pond.

“Link, you brat,” Harry says from behind him, and upon hearing his voice, Link sits up immediately.

“Oh, sure, that’s fair, move for him,” Louis mumbles, making room for Link to scramble over to Harry, knocking into him.

“I missed you,” Harry says, rubbing Link all over. “Missed you so much.” Link is panting so hard, it looks like he’s smiling, that son of a bitch.

Louis has to look away, can’t even stand it.

He hadn’t noticed that Harry was carrying a leash, or dog cookies, for that matter, but suddenly, Link is clipped up and eating happily and Louis wants nothing more than to drag him home and crawl back into Harry’s arms for the remainder of the night. The worst part, Louis thinks, is that if he asked, Harry would let him.

They walk back to Louis’ house silently, branches and leaves crunching beneath their feet, Link looking back every so often to make sure they’re still following. Louis checks his phone and sees that it’s nearly eight o’clock; they’d been looking for hours. Harry never complained once.

The house comes back into sight, and Louis grabs Harry’s arm. They both stop walking. “Wanna come inside?”

Harry looks pained. “Ah, I wish I could, Lou but…”

“But…”

“But, like, I don’t know.”

“Solid answer.” Harry smiles briefly, obviously uncomfortable, so Louis barrels on. “Harry, you just spent the past five days looking for my dog after… all the shit over the past month. Shit on my end, anyway, so I’m assuming it was shit for you, too.”

Harry nods after a moment, like a silent agreement, and then snorts. “Five days, huh?”

“Feels like it.” Harry looks down at the ground, brows furrowed. “H, let me just get you a fucking beer, okay? It’ll make this much less awkward.”

He laughs and it’s a real one and Louis is so, so glad. “Yeah, okay.”

They get inside and Harry lingers by the door with his hands in his pockets, biting his bottom lip. Louis can’t bear to look at him, standing so out of place like that, so he goes into the kitchen, praying he actually  _ has _ a beer to give him. He comes up with a two bottles that he’s pretty sure Harry bought himself a few months ago and Louis hopes he won’t notice.

“You can, like, come in,” Louis says, gesturing toward the living room.

Harry nods, face turning red. “I’ll come in.” He saunters over and takes the beer, breathing deeply. “I hate this.”

“I think you bought it, though? I can look to see if I have anything else but I’m thinking you’re out of luck.”

“No,” Harry says, waving his hand around. “ _ This. _ That I don’t know how to act in here.”

Louis slumps down onto the couch, leaving room for Harry, and he sits down beside him. “I hate it, too.”

It’s quiet while they both sip at their drinks, they only noise coming from Louis’ fingers as they drum on his knee and Harry’s foot as it taps on the floor. Louis’ at a loss for what to say when Harry looks over and smirks.

“So, Matt’s still in love with you, huh?”

Louis laughs. “He wants the goods.”

“I bet.”

They sit in silence again before Louis grabs the remote to the TV - anything to make this less weird - and he stops flipping through the channels when he lands on an old episode of  _ Roseanne. _ He takes a long sip of his beer, trying to work up the courage to tell Harry he could power through this awkward stage to get their friendship back up to what it used to be, if it’s at all possible, because his chest physically  _ aches _ with how badly he misses Harry. He’ll take him in whatever way he can have him. But when he looks up, Harry’s expression has gone slack, eyes unmoving, and Louis realizes with a sinking feeling in his gut that Harry has noticed the half empty wall of photos.

Harry places his nearly full bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him. “This is nothing about you, Lou, I’m just really tired and wanna head home, okay? Glad Link is safe.” He pats Louis on the knee and Louis lets his head drop to the back of the couch.

He stands up and makes his way to the front door, and Louis glances over just in time to see Harry flip on the front porch light.  
  
  
  
  
Louis gets a text about an hour later. It’s from Harry - his first text from him in an agonizingly long time - and it simply reads, “Don’t forget your groceries on the front porch. Matty would be heartbroken if he knew how poorly you were treating his products.”

He nearly chokes when he reads it, but the smile comes immediately afterward, and he feels better than he has in days.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next week, Louis finds stupid reasons to text Harry, now that they’ve broken the barrier. Everything is kept very casual and nothing touches the lines of flirty or too serious, but it’s enough to keep Louis from feeling like his heart is going to break every time he thinks about the fact that he ended the best thing he’d ever had just because he couldn’t take responsibility for his own thoughts.

It’s ridiculous, really, that he still can’t apologize, can’t muster up the courage to spit out the words, “I was wrong and I still love you and this isn’t cutting it for me anymore. Is there any hope for us?” But then he remembers  _ why _ they’re in this situation to begin with - the fact that he opened the door for Harry as quickly as he pushed Chris out - and it brings him to tears every time he thinks about it. So, for now, he sticks to meaningless texts. It’s all he can handle right now.

He tells Harry from the dentist’s chair that his new hygienist looks like a taller version of Danny DeVito and Harry tells him he’s jealous. He sends him a picture the next night of the inside of his nearly empty freezer, just a bottle of vodka and a package of chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, and Harry responds with,  _ Misery loves company. _ After class one Wednesday night, as he’s sitting in traffic, he texts Harry saying he’d rather blow his face off than sit in this any longer. Harry replies by telling Louis he’s the least dramatic person he’s ever known.

It all just skims the surface and though Louis is usually the one to initiate it, it feels good - decent, at least - that they’re at least pretending to deal with the aftermath and turmoil of the past several weeks.

Sunday morning is the first time Harry reaches out first. Louis wakes up to a text from him sent 15 minutes earlier - a picture of a cup of coffee and a muffin - and Louis nearly leaps out of bed, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to find his beanie. Harry is at the coffee shop. He’s at the coffee shop with Louis’ usual order and he’s waiting for him. They’re doing this. They’re really fucking doing this and all it took was a fucking picture of a  _ muffin _ from Harry for Louis to get his head out of his ass and realize that he wants all of him, all of this, everyday.

He wasn't ready a few weeks ago. Hell, he wasn't even ready last night. But he is now. Right now.

He finds the beanie under a sweatshirt on the floor, which he decides is clean enough to wear, too, and he throws on the first pair of sneakers he can find before he’s running out the door. He shoots a brief text back saying,  _ Looks perfect, _ and slides his phone into his sweatshirt pocket, heart racing.

Louis makes it to the coffee shop in about three minutes flat, a personal best, and he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He knows it’s Harry, probably telling him to hurry up before he eats the entire muffin on his own. He smiles and pushes open the door, eyes searching the room for Harry.

He’s not in their usual spot near the window - the spot Louis chose so he could watch Link tied up outside whenever they chose to dine inside the restaurant - and he isn’t along any of the other window tables, either. Perplexed, he heads up to the cashier.

The girl working the register is Molly, a college student who typically works most Sunday morning shifts, and she lights up when she sees Louis. “Hey! I haven’t seen you or Harry around here in weeks! How are you?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been alright. Speaking of Harry, though, do you know where he went?”

Molly looks confused. “I don’t think he’s been in here today. Like I said, I haven’t seen either of you around at all lately.”

“But he sent me a picture of breakfast this morning…” He bites at his bottom lip as he pulls out his phone and opens the text from Harry he’d ignored, and when he reads it, his heart sinks.

_ Haha, it should look perfect. It’s your order. Weird that my mom ordered the exact same thing that you usually do. _

Louis scrolls back up and looks at the picture, embarrassed that he didn’t notice that the table was completely different from any tables here at the coffee shop, and then he notices that it’s Anne’s hand is wrapped around the coffee cup, not Harry’s.

He pushes his hair out of his face and texts back,  _ Spending quality time with Mommy? _

Harry’s text back is immediate.  _ Yup, decided to spend the weekend with her. Think we both needed it. _

Louis looks back up at Molly and he tries to hide the uneasiness in his voice when he says, “I’ll take my usual to go.”

He plans to throw it all out the second he gets home.  
  
  
  
  
He spends the rest of his Sunday in bed, only getting up twice to piss and let Link out. Today, he loves that the sky blackens so early; it makes him feel like less of an asshole for spending the entire day in bed, covers pulled up to his ears, freezing. He can’t stop rolling around, alone and restless to have this whole bed to himself. Harry isn’t here, hasn’t been here, and that’s not Harry’s fault because it was Louis who pushed him so fucking far away and now he’s so, so very cold.  
  


* * *

  
It’s a downward spiral, Louis thinks at the end of November. The more time he spends away from Harry, the more he realizes that the healing process has been reversed, almost. Time isn’t healing anything. In fact, it seems to be getting worse.

Thanksgiving was a tough one. He drove home to spend the day with his family and he lost count of how many times he said through gritted teeth, “No, Harry and I aren’t together anymore.” His mom kept looking at him with pity in her eyes, and it made Louis feel so unbearably pathetic that he claimed his stomach hurt before dessert, saying he was leaving to head home early. Jay knew it was a lie, but she let him go, his exit silent.

It’s Black Friday and Louis is on his couch, alone, absolutely wasted. He’s been drinking for the past several hours and it’s finally caught up to him, making the room spin, making his nerves skyrocket.

_ Elf _ comes on and Louis curses under his breath. “It’s the day after fucking Thanksgiving. It’s too early for this shit.”

He mutes the TV and closes his eyes. He counts to ten in his head several times over, almost like he’s trying to prove to himself that time is, in fact, moving forward and not standing still, that he’s not paralyzed in his own mind.

Louis keeps counting, his eyes still closed, and he thinks to himself,  _ Okay, good, it’s been about an hour. A whole hour has been gone by, you’ve got this. _ He opens his eyes and focuses them back on the TV - a heavy feat in his drunken stupor - and nearly cries when he sees that Buddy hasn’t even left the North Pole yet.

He fishes for his phone in between the couch cushions and fumbles as he dials Liam’s number.

“Hey, Lou, what’s up?”

“Liam, I.” He coughs. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you what day it was if Thanksgiving hadn’t just happened and every minute feels like a fucking chore and I’m so tired and I’m in stage four. I don’t want to be in stage four again. Don’t you remember how hard it was for me to pull myself out of that before, when Christopher died?”

“Louis, where are you?” His voice sounds panicked and Louis can hear rustling in the background, like he’s looking for something.

“I'm constantly being torn, stuck in this fucking game of tug-of-war in my own head and I'm so fucking tired,” he says, not even sure what Liam just asked. The pounding in his head makes the rest of the world sound muted. Static.

“Louis, seriously, where are you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m on my couch and I need you or something or anything, just, I can’t be in stage four.” He can’t even spit out the word  _ depression _ without feeling like he’s going to throw up.

“Okay, I’m coming, don’t move.”

_ Like I can even stand up. _ “Okay.”  
  
  
  
Liam makes it to Louis’ house impressively quickly. He lets himself in using the key Louis gave him after the incident in which Louis got stuck at work when Link was just a puppy and he demanded Liam go in by any means necessary to make sure he was okay. (He broke a window to get in, taking Louis’ threats extremely seriously, and after that, Louis started handing out keys like business cards.)

Louis doesn’t open his eyes when he feels Liam sit down on the couch beside him. “What happened?”

His eyes are still closed, even when he feels tears slipping out of them. “Liam, I miss him so much, it's like I can’t even hold a conversation.”

“Oh, Lou, Christ.” He squeezes Louis’ shoulder. “He’s out there, you know. There’s nothing stopping you from calling him or going to see him.”

“Except there is,” he says, opening his eyes, voice shrill. “We don’t talk unless I start it, really, and anything we talk about is meaningless, boring shit I'd tell my bank teller or mailman. He’s so distant and he’s just, he’s fucking  _ gone, _ Liam. I did this and it’s my fault and he doesn’t want me and I can’t do stage four again, I can’t.”

“Louis, do you know how much this scares me?” He isn’t blinking and he can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. “The last time you were like this was when Chris died.”

“I  _ feel _ like Harry died. Like I’m grieving the death of my husband all over again.” He lets out another sob and he feels so out of control. He reaches over and grabs his drink on the coffee table, taking several large gulps.

Liam furrows his brow. “You can be done with that now, okay? You’re essentially trying to poison yourself to death. Let’s, just… You need to shower and I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.” He looks down at his hands and sighs. “I want you to stay.”

“Okay. I’m not leaving.”  
  
  
  
  
True to his word, Liam is there when Louis wakes up in the morning, and he doesn’t go home until Sunday night when Louis is nearly forcing him out the door.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“Call me whenever you need me to, okay? Just, like. Stop drinking, for the love of God.”

Louis lets out a snort. “Yeah, I’m done for a while. Go kiss your baby for me.”

“I will.”

Louis watches him walk back to his car and he takes a deep breath.

New day. It’s a new day. And even though he hasn't heard from Harry in days and he knows he probably won't hear from him anytime soon, he thinks to himself anyway,  _ Please let today be better.  
_

* * *

  
It’s December first, and it snowed. It snowed a lot.

Louis wakes up squinting, the partly sunny sky reflecting off of the six inches of snow and ice that apparently fell over night. It’s early in the year for so much snow, but Louis thinks of how happy Link will be to run and frolic. That makes it worth it.

Except for shoveling. He  _ hates _ shoveling. Harry usually does it for him.

He sits up in bed, wondering when he’ll stop waking up thinking about him before he even has the chance to brush his teeth.

He makes his way to the kitchen, pulling out a mug to make a cup of coffee, and that’s when he remembers: it’s  _ December fucking first. _ Today, it’s been three years since Christopher died.

Louis puts the mug down on the counter, scratching at his jaw. It’s more stubbly than he usually allows it to be. He doesn’t give any more thought than that before he’s slipping on boots and heading out the door.  
  
  
  
  
The last time Louis showed up at Harry’s house unexpectedly, apology on the tip of his tongue, it had been when he blew up after his first day of teaching. The weather was hot and sticky - typical for July - and he knew Harry would graciously allow him inside, even though Louis had been so, so wrong.

This time, though, his boots crunch in the freshly fallen snow all along Harry’s walkway, not yet touched by a shovel, and he has no idea how Harry will react. He’s sweating inside his jacket even though it’s probably no more than 28 degrees.

He knocks on the door three times, even though he knows where Harry keeps the spare key, and as he waits for Harry, he looks down at himself. He’s still wearing the sweatpants he wore to bed last night, and the t-shirt he has on underneath his coat is old, something from his first year of college.

It’s honestly the least of his worries.

When Harry pulls open the door a few moments later, Louis sees that he’s still in pajamas, too, plaid bottoms hanging low on his hips. Louis briefly thinks that he’s never seen them; probably because the majority of Harry’s wardrobe is in bags at Louis’ house and he most likely went out and bought new stuff.

Louis could already throw up.

“Hi,” he starts out, shuffling in the snow.

Harry clears his throat. “Hi.” He looks down at Louis’ outfit. “You look nice.”

Louis snorts. “You’re one to talk.”

He nods. “Do you… Wanna come in?”

“Yeah.” He steps through the front door and the heat hits him immediately, fogging up his glasses. He isn’t sure if Harry wants him to stay, but he takes off his boots, anyway, and shrugs out of his coat.

“I just made coffee. Want some?” Harry asks, scratching at the back of his neck.

_ It’ll give me something to do with my hands, _ he thinks. “Please.”

He follows Harry into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table, the spot he’d previously claimed as his own in years past. It’s easy to pretend nothing is wrong and this is just a regular Saturday morning, that he just spent the night in Harry’s arms and now they’re making breakfast together.

But he didn’t come here to pretend. He’s done with that. He has too much he needs to say.

“I don’t know if I have any cream. Is milk okay?” Harry asks, rummaging through his refrigerator.

“Today is the anniversary of Chris’ death,” he says, ignoring Harry’s question entirely.

Harry turns around slowly, gallon of milk in his hand. “I know,” he answers quietly.

“It’s the anniversary of Chris’ death and unlike every year before this one, I didn't wake up thinking about how badly I wanted him. Instead I woke up thinking about how badly I wanted you, I wanted my Harry. And when I realized the guilt over that wasn't going to eat me alive, I knew I had to come here.”

Harry puts the carton of milk on the counter, abandoning the coffee entirely, and makes his way over to Louis at the table. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to him on the chair and swallows heavily.

“You’re my best friend. You’re my person. You’re my rock and you’ve always been there.” He shakes his head, thinking too many things at once. “Harry, I was there when you first learned how to drive and you almost killed me and then you were there when I went through the most awful year of my life and I  _ wanted  _ you to kill me…” He looks directly at Harry for the first time since he sat down. “I have so many things I want to say to you because you deserve to hear it all, and more, but the first thing I need to say is how sorry I am for ever saying what I said to you, and letting you walk away. I owe myself an apology for that, too, because I’ve had to go without you for the past two months and let me tell you, Styles, giving you up cold turkey is not fucking easy.”

Harry cracks a watery smile at that. “Hasn’t been easy on this end, either.”

Louis nods. “We’re a team, you and I, and I think I failed to appreciate that over the past couple of months because I was so wrapped up in my own head. That’s just. That’s where I needed to start. And if you want to keep listening, I’ll keep going.”

He runs his hands through his hair, fingers getting caught in the tangles at the end. He sucks in his cheeks. “Yeah, Lou, you can keep going.”

Louis’ chest hurts. He missed him so, so much and it’s been nearly two months since they’ve been together but somehow, Louis somehow loves him even more.

“Okay. I’ll keep. Yeah. Okay.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, steadying once Harry reaches across the table and grabs Louis’ hand in his own. “I forgot Chris’ birthday.”

Harry frowns. “Is that what happened? Why you freaked out?”

Louis gives a tiny nod. “It’s not an excuse. But I lost it. You know, you were there.”

He licks his lips. “I wish you had said something. Guilt is normal, Louis, especially when you miss a major anniversary like that. I could have been there with you through it, you know?”

“I know. And that’s why I didn’t say anything. Because you make it sound so simple, and it isn’t always. I didn’t feel like I just  _ missed _ his birthday. I felt like I was  _ erasing _ him. So I obviously put all of that on you.”

“Obviously.”

Louis smiles. “I said a lot of horrible things to you, Harry. You know me. You know I didn’t mean any of that. Just about everything I said was a gross insecurity that I’ve never really thought twice about but it all came tumbling out before I could stop it. A lot of it was fear.” He sees Harry’s confused expression and he backtracks. “I've never been afraid of loving you, or of you loving me,” he clarifies. “That's not what scared me. It's the opposite, really. I'm impossibly afraid of  _ not _ being loved by you. But what set me off in that moment was forgetting Chris.”

“I wouldn’t ever allow that to happen. Any of that.”

“I know,” he says honestly. “But. There is one thing during my freak out that was honest and it’s fair that you know which part I’m talking about.”

Harry nods. “Okay. Which part?”

He takes a deep breath. “The part when I said we wouldn’t be together if Chris wasn’t dead.” He laces his fingers through Harry’s. “You know when people go on vacation to a new place, like Hawaii, and when they come back, they talk about it like it’s the best place they’ve ever been to? But no one can relate because no one else has been there, and it doesn’t make a difference, because to them, Maui is something they’ve never experienced, and they don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

His eyes are moving across Louis’ face, confused. “I guess?”

“Harry, you’re my trip to Maui. I could have been married to Chris for my entire life and I would have been perfectly happy because I wouldn’t have known what it would have been like to experience being loved by you.”

Harry blinks twice, trying to hold back his smile, or his tears, Louis isn’t sure which. “I’m your trip to Maui.”

“You’re my trip to Maui.” He pauses to squeeze Harry’s hand in his own, relieved that for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he gets to be the one consoling and taking care of Harry. It seems like it’s always the other way around. “I hope to God you never know what it feels like to be a widow, but the only way you’ll know how I feel is if you go through it yourself. Losing a spouse is… It’s always going to be a struggle. It’s like I’m constantly trying to put Chris first but Christ, that doesn’t matter anymore, huh?”

“Louis, it always matters. There are no rules in this. It’s whatever feels right to you.” He pauses. “I need to apologize for what I said, too, even if this is kind of moot now. I didn't mean what I said about not wishing Chris was still alive…”

Louis cuts him off, shaking his head. “I get it now. Insecurities are real and I can't judge you for that. It hurt, yeah, but I understand. I've thought about it a lot. Really.” Harry smiles slightly, dimple just barely showing. Louis needs to get his hands on him. But first: “I’m always going to love Chris. I will never lie to you about that. But now, I know I’m always going to love you, too. And these past couple of months have hurt almost worse than when Chris died. Losing him wasn’t an option. It was out of my control. With you, I willingly threw you away. Why would someone ever do that to someone like you?” He can feel his eyes starting to water and he does nothing to stop it. “I feel like I’m going through a death again, but with you this time.”

Harry rubs his thumb along the ridges of Louis’ knuckles. “I’m here. I’m always here. I didn’t go anywhere, okay? It’s… It’s okay to love both of us. I’m not asking you to pick. I would never ask you to do that.” He clears his throat, his own eyes watering. “But as long as it’s honesty hour, I just need you to know that dating someone who has lost a spouse is really hard, too. I’m not comparing it, because what you’ve gone through is unbelievable, but I don’t always know what I can say or what I can bring up. I remembered it was Chris’ birthday but I didn’t mention it because I figured you were keeping silent for a reason.”

Louis nods. “I feel like sometimes I think I have it worse off than everyone else. That’s unfair of me. You lost him, too, and not only do you have to pick up your own pieces, you also have to pick up mine. I tend to forget you’re human and have your own stuff going on.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

Louis looks down at his lap. “I think, maybe, I wasn't ready to fall in love with you like I did,” he whispers. “But here we are and I can't imagine it otherwise and Christ, I'd have  _ run _ here from the start if I'd known what it felt like to be yours.”

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, squeezing Louis’ hand.

“It's not up to me,” Louis says, starting to feel a little helpless. It now occurs to him that since he sat down, Harry hasn’t reciprocated his feelings once. “It's your choice. I'll take you whatever way I can have you. I just hope to God you want all of me the way I want you,” he says, huffing out a desperate laugh.

Harry can’t look at him in the eye and Louis hates the feeling in his stomach. He knew it was a possibility that Harry didn’t want to be with him, but he really thought he could fix this, that they could move on, move forward.

He searches Harry’s face for an answer. “Is it too late?” he asks, voice breaking on the last word. “I’ve had time to figure my shit out, and I know what I want now, and maybe it’s selfish of me, but  _ Harry, _ I will never run again,” he says, nearly pleading. “I might get scared again but I’ll never push you away.” When Harry doesn’t answer, Louis pulls his hand back and stands up, no idea where he plans to go or what he plans to do. He turns around, looking for his keys frantically, needing to get the fuck out of this house before he breaks even more. That’s when Harry speaks.

“I know I'm not the only love of your life,” Harry says slowly, his voice calm and even. Louis turns to look at him and sees that his eyes are shining. “But you're mine. And I would gladly share that title with someone else if it means I get to be with you.”

Louis can’t be held responsible for the noise he makes after that, and he almost sinks to the floor. “Are you sure?”

Harry stands up and only needs to take three strides before he’s standing right in front of Louis. “You’re… You’re the thing I’m most sure of, Lou.” He traces over Louis’ cheekbone with his thumb. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? Like, every part of you?”

Louis has to close his eyes before he can answer and when he opens them again, Harry’s gaze is locked on his face, blazing. “Missed watching TV in bed with you.”

Harry hums. “Me, too. Missed your horrible playlists in the car.”

“You mean  _ amazing _ playlists,” he corrects. “Mostly just missed having someone there to let Link outside at five in the morning.”

Harry snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

Louis smirks and weaves his fingers through Harry’s curls. “Missed the way your shampoo smells.”

He swallows. “You always steal it.”

“I like it.” He looks up at Harry. “I like you, too.”

“I’m glad to hear that, because I’m not going anywhere. You won’t be able to get rid of me so easily next time.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but when Harry drops his forehead, pressing them together, Louis can’t think of a comeback. Instead, he just waits as Harry moves exceptionally slowly, breath mingling together before their lips even brush.

It’s the gentlest kiss Louis has ever received. Whenever he’s allowed himself to go over this scenario in his head in weeks prior, he imagined it would be hungry and scorching and tantalizing. This is none of those things, and somehow, it’s even more personal. Harry’s lips just barely graze his own, fleeting and teasing, and it isn’t until Harry cups Louis’ jaw in his hands that Louis gets impatient.

He dips his tongue into Harry’s mouth, unable to help himself, and Harry whines, backing Louis up into the kitchen wall, pressing the full length of his body against him. It gets sloppy from there, the kind of kiss Louis has been imagining, only it’s better because it’s  _ real _ and it’s leaving him short of breath. Harry kisses Louis so hard that Louis can tell his brows are knit together without even looking. He almost forgot what it felt like to be kissed by Harry like this, and he can't believe he almost let this slip away for good.

They stand there kissing long enough for Louis to be able to feel the hard outline of Harry’s cock against his thigh, and when Harry pulls back with hooded eyelids, hands gripping Louis’ ass through his sweatpants, Louis can barely manage to form a coherent sentence. “Harry, bedroom, go.”

Harry bends down to mouth at Louis’ neck. “Pushy,” he murmurs into Louis’ skin.

“Now is not the time for you to complain about my positive personality traits, let’s  _ go. _ ”

Harry walks backward down the hallway, blindly leading Louis as he stops to kiss him after every other step. He shoves open his bedroom door with his hip, pulling Louis in with him, and Louis already feels like putty in Harry’s hands, completely at Harry’s mercy.

He lets Harry crowd him up against the door, hands squeezing at his ass, mouth back on Louis’, hips aimlessly thrusting into Louis’ hips. He chases the feeling, his cock already fully hard, and he’s desperate, desperate to have Harry’s hands on him again, desperate to get Harry off.

He groans when Harry pulls his sweatpants down, hands immediately going to Louis’ cock, and he lets his head fall back against the door when Harry starts squeezing and stroking through his boxers. He can’t stop whining, can’t do anything but stand there and let Harry touch him.

“Baby, come here,” Harry says after a minute, or maybe twenty, Louis has no idea. It’s too much, it’s not enough, and he’s still partially clothed. “Bed.”

Louis loops his arms around Harry’s neck and lets Harry drag him to the bed, incapable of letting go. Harry tries to pull away and Louis clings more, clutching harder. “No.”

“Hey.” Harry brushes hair out of Louis’ face. “Baby, I'm not going anywhere,” he says, an echo of what Louis said the first time they ever had sex, and his heart won’t stop racing.

“Okay, just, yeah,” he murmurs, making absolutely zero sense. He lays down, his head on the pillows, and Harry climbs over him, straddling. Louis slides his hands up under Harry’s shirt. He feels Harry’s stomach muscles clench with every touch.

“Missed you so fucking much,” Harry whispers before he ducks down to kiss the back of Louis’ hand, up his arm, and eventually landing on his lips. He grinds his hips down, his sweatpants soft against Louis’ bare thighs, and all Louis can manage to do is hang onto Harry’s hair, letting everything else overwhelm him.

It’s a peculiar feeling, a peculiar state, for Louis to be so out of control with Harry in this situation. He often lets Harry take charge, loving how Harry gets when he’s putting on a show, almost, but  _ this _ is different. He couldn’t stop whimpering if he tried.

He arches his back after a particularly hard thrust and when he looks up, Louis can see his own desperation glaring in Harry’s eyes. “Wanna suck you off,” he whispers, watching for Harry’s reaction.

Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he grinds down again. “Yeah,” he mumbles, climbing off of Louis’ thighs and he takes off his shirt, tossing it onto the ground behind him.

Louis sits up and unties the drawstring on Harry’s sweatpants, pushing them down, loving the way Harry’s breath hitches when his cock bobs free. No underwear, as per usual.

He situates himself beside Harry, jerking him three times before he takes him all the way down, cock hitting the back of his throat. He gags once and Harry groans.

One time, when Harry was drunk and Louis was sucking him off, Harry had let it slip that he loves when Louis gags, like it’s too much for him to take. Louis had laughed it off at the time, telling Harry he was an idiot, but now, he uses it to his advantage. He takes Harry down even deeper, gagging again, and Harry grips the back of Louis’ head. Louis can tell he’s trying not to drive his hips further into Louis’ mouth.

He works over him slowly, twisting his hand the way he knows Harry likes best, and it only takes a few minutes before Harry is panting, “Baby, stop for a sec, I need the lube.”

Louis pulls off and thumbs over the head, making Harry jerk. “Can’t concentrate when I’m doing this?”

“Are you kidding? Been dreaming about your mouth for weeks. I can barely remember to  _ breathe, _ never mind look for lube.”

He smirks and gestures toward the nightstand. “Have at it.”

Harry opens the drawer and comes back with a half empty bottle moments later. Louis dives back down, licking up and down Harry’s length. He just barely registers the sound of the bottle cap opening, and then Harry’s hands are on him, yanking down his boxers, the elastic band snapping against his waist. He keeps bobbing his head, even as Harry is undressing him, and he only falters his movements when Harry’s first finger slides inside him.

It’s been what feels like ages since he’s had Harry’s fingers inside of him, making him come undone from the inside out, and he can’t help the obscene moan he lets out when Harry slides in a second finger unprompted. He works his hips backward, trying to focus on bringing Harry to the edge over and over again, but his fingers feel so fucking good, and he can’t be blamed for chasing the feeling, having to pull up off of Harry after only another minute or two.

He rests his head on Harry’s thigh, panting. When Harry crooks his fingers and rubs against his prostate, as if he wasn’t even trying, Louis whines. “So good, Harry, can’t fucking stand it.”

Harry works his fingers deeper, sliding in a third finger when he trusts that Louis’ body is ready for it. “Do you know how gorgeous you are?” he asks. “It drives me crazy. Been driving me crazy for years.”

Louis clenches down around him, sweat forming on his forehead, and he can’t take this anymore. “Harry,” he warns, and Harry gets the idea.

He pulls his fingers out and yanks Louis’ boxers off the rest of the way, flipping him on his back. He hovers over him, lube in the palm of his hand, and he kisses him thoroughly before pulling back. “I don’t have any condoms,” he admits. “They’re all at your house and I didn’t bother to buy more.”

Louis sucks in his cheeks. “Gonna need to buy more. I threw all yours away. I was sick of looking at them.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, kissing up and down Louis’ neck. “Are you suggesting I drive to the pharmacy right now to buy some?”

He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him in closer. “No. Just. Be with me.”

He nods. “I can do that. Want to do that.”

Louis grabs the lube out of his hand and covers his own hand with it. He reaches down and slides his hand over Harry’s cock, Harry fucking into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut. “You good?” Louis asks, voice quieter than he anticipated.

“Yeah. Too good,” he murmurs, lining himself up with Louis and pushing in, movement fluid and smooth.

Louis’ hands immediately fly up to cover his face, feeling of it too intense, and he doesn’t want his every emotion to show on his face. He knows Harry is looking at him - he always stares in the most intense way whenever Louis is under him like this - but he can’t pull his hands away to match Harry’s gaze. “Move, H,” he whimpers, pushing his hips forward.

“No. Not until you move your hands. Wanna see you.”

He bites at his bottom lip. “Can’t. Can’t focus on anything else when your giant dick is lodged in my ass.”

Harry bursts out laughing. “Come on, baby.” When Louis still doesn’t move, Harry reaches down and grips Louis’ hands in his own, lacing their fingers together over the pillow. Louis blinks, refocusing his eyes. “God, you’re.” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Louis knows, anyway.

He finally starts to move, thrusting over and over, pace nearly bruising, and Louis loves it. He loves the way Harry is using his body to get himself off, loves that Harry finds him so unbearably attractive that he can’t hold back. He whines, twisting his wrists, trying to free himself from Harry’s grip. “Wanna touch you,” he says, and Harry lets go at that.

Louis drags his fingers along Harry’s cheekbones, through his hair, across his shoulder blades, up and down his back. He can’t keep still, wants to keep touching him to prove to himself that this is really happening again and it’s all real.

Harry’s movements go sloppy after a while, his breathing uneven. “You feel so good, Lou, you have no idea.” The words are punched out of him, almost like he’s in pain, and Louis can relate.

He drags his hands up Harry’s sides again, movements shaky. “Feels pretty good from here, too.” And that’s an understatement. He’s already embarrassingly close, orgasm building in the pit of his stomach and working its way out. He’s trembling his breathing quicker, and he reaches down to touch himself, so,  _ so _ close.

Harry must be able to tell he’s close. “Baby, come on. Come. I’ll take care of you.” His voice is genuine and he can’t stop staring at Louis, concentrated on nothing but Louis and his body, and that’s the thing, isn’t it? Harry is always taking care of Louis. Always. That thought is what does it for him.

When he comes, he nearly shouts with the force of it, almost wishing it would stop, and he clings to Harry impossibly closer. Harry keeps working his hips, angling himself at all the right spots, and Louis feels like he can’t breathe.

He comes down slowly, clenching down around Harry to get him there faster, wanting him to fly off the edge, as well. It seems to work, because he puts his face in Louis’ neck, panting, hands gripping at Louis’ hips, squeezing way too tightly.

“Harry,” he whispers, his throat tight, “I’m never gonna love anyone the way I love you. I swear to fucking God.” It's the truth.

Harry’s moan is downright sinful, coming inside of Louis, hair sweaty at the nape of his neck. Louis rubs his back through it, calming him down, and when he finally pulls back, his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are a deep shade of pink, blotchy and so, so gorgeous.

He pulls out slowly, kissing Louis’ face the whole time, and when he lays down flat on his back, Louis wastes no time climbing into his arms, the spot he’s been missing for months.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispers into Louis’ hair, wrapping his arms tight around him.

Louis moves in closer. “I’m so lucky,” he says, and for the first time in years, he means it.  
  


* * *

  
They spend the rest of the day at Harry’s house, kissing and talking and touching, making grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch, and when the sun starts to go down, Louis groans.

“I have to go home and feed Link. He probably wants to go out, too.”

Harry rolls his shoulders. “I’ll go with you. And I’ll help hang those pictures of me back up on the wall.”

Louis blushes. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

He shrugs, smiling. “I’m gonna super glue them to the wall, just watch me.”

“Do it.”

They head to Louis’ before dinner, and before they enter, Louis apologizes profusely for the state of his house, reluctantly mentioning the bags of Harry’s stuff at the end of the bed.

“I didn’t know what to do with it,” he admits as he unlocks the front door. “I couldn’t get rid of it but I couldn’t look at it, either. Thank God I finally had the balls to show up at your house, though. Was starting to look like an episode of  _ Hoarders _ in here. Now you can help me get my shit together again.”

Harry smiles but doesn’t laugh, following Louis inside. “If I hadn’t heard from you by your birthday, I would have called. I don’t want you to think I completely gave up on you, on us. I wanted to give you time, as much as I didn’t want to stay away, but I figured it would work. Or at least, I hoped it would.” He locks the door behind him. “Patience is all it takes to be with you. Took ten years to finally get you for the first time. I knew I could handle another 60 days to get you back for good.”

Louis swallows the lump in his throat. “Ah, baby,” he says, as if that’s enough. “Thank you for coming home. Because you were right. This  _ is _ your home.”

Harry grabs his hand and pulls him in for a hug. “Thank you for  _ letting _ me come home,” he says into Louis’ hair. “I love you.”

He feels so safe, so utterly content; it’s not new, this feeling, but it’s been a while. He didn’t think it would be possible to maintain again, not after all of the demolishment he caused over the past eight weeks. While Harry strokes his back, Louis thinks about how lucky he is to have found someone in his short lifetime to love so wholeheartedly. He’s spent the past few months questioning how it’s possible to love another human simply because of how their mind works, how their hands move, how their voice sounds, how they string words together to make sentences that make his toes curl. It’s timeless, this love, and he’s done questioning it.

Louis burrows himself deeper into Harry’s embrace. “I love you, too.”  
  


* * *

  
Louis wakes up alone the next morning, bed cold except for where he’s been laying, no sign of Harry anywhere. He heads into the living room, which is also empty, and the kitchen is vacant, as well. He momentarily panics, thinking the entire thing was a dream, that he never actually went to Harry’s house the morning before, and he’s still stuck in this nightmare.

But then, he remembers what day of the week it is, and he has a hunch as to where Harry is hiding out on this cold and sunny Sunday.

He hooks Link up to his leash and steps into a pair of winter boots. It’s freezing outside, motivating Louis to walk even faster. Link leads the way, happy to be outside, happy to burrow his nose in the snow.

They turn the corner to the coffee shop and though Louis knew that Harry would be here, waiting for him, he still feels a sense of relief when he sees his boy sitting at their table by the window, coffee and muffin in hand.

It’s going to be a good morning.


	5. Epilogue

21 days later, just after breakfast, Louis is sitting on the floor of his house, wrapping paper at his feet. Niall, Caroline, Liam, Sarah, Emma, Louis’ mom and sisters, and, of course, Harry, are passing around birthday cupcakes, celebrating Louis, even though it’s obvious most of them are antsy to get going and begin their Christmas Eve.

He saves Harry’s gifts for last, knowing he probably got him something ridiculous that will make him cry and/or want to punch Harry in the stomach.

“Okay, Harry, have at it. What’d you get your elderly boyfriend?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I like ‘em old.”

“Ew.”

He laughs. “Hold on, I’ll go grab it.” He comes back momentarily with an envelope and a box, each sporting red bows.

Liam reaches for a second cupcake. “Open it, let’s go,” he says, bouncing Emma on his knee.

“I’ll open it when  _ I _ want to,” Louis responds stubbornly, but he’s already ripping the box apart.

Inside, a tiny orange and red kitten sleeps at the bottom, curled up into a tiny ball. He looks up at Harry. “Are you kidding?”

Harry’s face is red, clearly terrible at holding in secrets. “Do you like her?”

“Her?” Niall asks. “What the hell?”

Louis pulls her out of the box and she meows, her voice so tiny and small, Louis can’t help but gasp. “Why is it that all of my boyfriends buy me pets I don’t want during the holiday season?”

Harry laughs. “ _ Lou, _ Link needs a friend during the day.”

“You mean  _ you _ wanted a friend when  _ I’m _ not here!”

He shrugs. “That, too.”

“Harry, Link could  _ eat _ her.”

“He would never. He’s like a big, stupid butterfly.”

Link trots over, then, plopping down in front of Louis. It takes him a moment before he realizes there’s a tiny creature in Louis’ hands. He tilts his head to the side, sniffs the kitten once, nudging her with his nose.

Okay, he clearly isn’t going to eat her, and he knows Harry is already thinking of future photoshoots involving Link the giant dog and his little orange buddy. Fuck, it’ll be cute.

Louis stares at the kitten, and son of a bitch, she’s adorable. “Christ, Harry, I love her.”

He claps his hands together. “I knew it.”

Sarah leans forward, scratching gently behind the kitten’s ears. “What are you gonna name her?”

Louis tries to pretend like he hasn’t been thinking of his future cat’s name for years. “I dunno. I like Mia. Harry? What do you think?”

Niall bursts out laughing before Harry gets the chance to respond. “Oh my God, like  _ Mama Mia _ ? Christ, apparently you  _ can _ get gayer.”

“Okay, seriously, fuck you,” he says, kissing the top of Mia’s little orange head.

Harry sits down next to him and puts his hand on Louis’ knee. “I love the name Mia.” He puts the envelope on Louis’ lap. “This is for you, too,” he says under his breath, quiet enough that no one can hear him.

“Harry, honestly, I don’t need any more naked pictures of you.”

He snorts. “Just open it.”

He hands Mia to Harry and tears open the envelope carefully. Inside is an itinerary for a trip, and Louis can hardly breathe.

“Harry? We’re… We’re going to Maui?”

Harry nods, his smile shy. “We’re going to Maui.”   
  
  
  
  
**End  
  
**

* * *

  
“Hey, um, Harry? How do you shoot pool?”

Harry cocks his hip to the side, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knows the look that he’s giving Louis screams  _ Do you think I’m stupid? You must. _

“What.”

Louis bites on his bottom lip and smiles. Harry wants to push him into traffic. “I need your help.”

Harry taps one foot on the ground. “Why would I help you?” But he knows he’s going to help before Louis even begins his lame, half-assed speech.

“I haven’t played in years and I completely forget how to hold the cue. Just give me a quick refresher.” He raises a brow. “Let’s be real, you’re obviously going to win, seeing as I can barely hold this stick the right way. H, please.”

He  _ wishes _ he was drunker, that he could blame how easy is he for Louis on the alcohol, but neither the beer nor the shots have kicked in and yeah, he’s just  _ that _ gone.

He sighs. “Okay. Fine.” He walks over to Louis and takes the cue out of his hands. “Did you see how I was balancing it on my fingers?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, but show me anyway.”

Harry puts a hand on his hip, pretending he’s more annoyed than he really is, but he knows Louis can see right through him. And  _ that _ in itself is what gets to him, that Louis knows him so fucking well. He wants to break Louis down, even if it breaks him down in the process.

What he does next is not planned out well, and he knows he’s taken Louis off guard. He’s taken himself off guard, too.

He wraps his arms around Louis, manipulating his body into position to shoot the ball cleanly and smoothly He knows he’s entering dangerous territory - an area in which they’ve never visited before - but fuck, if he doesn’t want dyed hair for the next several weeks.

More accurately, he’s also beyond thrilled to have Louis in this position, vulnerable and covered entirely by Harry’s body. He’s only allowed himself to imagine this scenario in the deep recesses of his mind, never thinking it would actually come to fruition, only if it is for a stupid game of pool.

Oh. Right. This is a game. Fucking  _ focus. _

“When you push the cue forward,” he says into Louis’ ear, “you want your motions to be steady. If you’re too forceful, you’re not going to have much control over your ball.” He pushes himself further up against Louis’ back, which turns out to be a mistake, because now Louis’ ass is pressed right up against his crotch and he’s fairly certain that if his next few moves aren’t calculated and if he doesn’t regain total control, he’s absolutely going to lose it.

It’s as if Louis  _ wants _ him to break. He bends over, pushing himself further into Harry’s crotch, and says, “So, should I bend over, like this?”

Harry wants to scream  _ You’re already fucking doing it, why are you even asking? _ but instead, he grips Louis’ hips tightly to steady himself and says as evenly as he can, “It’s not necessary, but if you feel like it works for you, by all means, continue.”

“Feels good to me.”

He grips tighter. “Yeah. Me, too.” He can’t stop squeezing Louis’ body, doesn’t want to, either. His skin feels warm to touch, even through his jeans. Helplessly, he slides his hands up Louis’ sides and before he can think twice about it, covers Louis’ hands with his own. He knows he’s not imagining it when Louis nearly melts under Harry’s hands, and his brain is screaming  _ more. _

Louis is clearly drunk; he has to be, otherwise, none of this would be happening. He opens his mouth to ask Louis just how drunk he really is, but he rethinks it. He doesn’t want to know. He wants to have this, even if it’s only a one time thing.

Harry nearly groans when Louis comes to his senses and straightens his back, pulling away.  “Okay, step back, I’ll take my shot.”

He resists the urge to slam his head against the brick wall behind him. “Shoot.”

Louis aims and the solid red ball sinks into the left corner pocket. “How was that?”

Harry whistles. “Looks like I’m a good teacher.”

Louis winks. “I’ll say,” he says, and Harry wants to die. He’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t see him blushing, but he can’t be entirely sure.

He keeps moving, taking shot after shot, and it’s clear after the third successful shot that Louis was lying the entire time.

Harry couldn’t care less.

Louis looks up at him, then, and bursts out laughing. “What’s with the face, Styles?”

Oh God, that smile. It takes over his whole face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, eyes bright. His smile is Harry’s favorite thing about him, and if he thinks about it too much, it makes him fall just a little bit deeper every time.

He can’t stare anywhere else, though, stammering out, “I think… I think I’ve been hustled.”

It’s not his finest moment, but in all honesty, it might just be.  
  
  
  
  
A few days later, he’s sporting blue hair, and it looks terrible, but the way Louis is looking at him makes every second absolutely worth it.


	6. Maui: The Lost Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](http://cherrystreet.tumblr.com/post/146272678462/title-maui-the-lost-chapter-the-final)

They’ve been in Maui for the past five days, and they’ve done it  _ all. _ Tours in a yellow Jeep around the island, hikes, boat rides, a surf lesson, a trip to the top of a volcano, and so many meals at restaurants that Harry has lost track of what he’s eaten and what he hasn’t. Louis even secretly signed them up for a hula dancing class and then ducked out at the last second, making Harry do it alone while he cackled maniacally from the other side of the lawn, taking picture after picture, Harry blushing the whole time. They haven’t sat down once, with the exception of meals and sleep, and though he’s ecstatic to be here with his boy, the past several day’s events have finally started to catch up to him. He is fucking  _ exhausted. _

He asks Louis if they can spend the entirety of Friday on the water and sand, relaxing - seeing as they haven’t done that yet - and Louis is immediately on board with that idea. They gather towels and sunscreen, settling in under the shade of the cabanas on the beach’s edge, and Harry feels himself relax instantly. It’s nice to be busy on vacation, but it’s even nicer to sit and do  _ nothing _ with one’s gorgeous boyfriend.

And drinks. Drinks might be the best part. Especially the ones that are bottomless and seem to appear out of nowhere just as he finishes off his last few sips.

They lay out in the sun, baking and basking, reapplying sunscreen every so often. Louis slaps his hand down on Harry’s bronzed back, spreading out the lotion, and Harry groans.

“Was that honestly necessary?”

“Mmm. Probably. Yes.”

“I’m gonna ask the pool boy to apply it next time. I bet he’d be gentle. He has nice hands.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“I have a five-star handprint on my back right now and  _ I’m _ annoying.”

He blinks. “Yes.”

Harry snorts. “Okay, glad we got that covered.” He pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, melting back into the mesh chair, and when he feels Louis link his pinky finger with his own, he can’t help his smile.  
  


* * *

  
Later that night, once the sun has gone down and they’ve managed to shower most of the sand off of their bodies, Harry lays down on the resort’s bed, trying and failing to keep his eyes open.

He can tell Louis is standing in front of him at the foot of the bed without opening his eyes. “Get up.”

Harry whines in response. “Can’t.”

“Harry, we’re in fucking Maui and it’s not even 9 o’clock yet and you’re in  _ bed. _ ”

“Why do you have to say ‘bed’ like it’s the plague.”

“Because we’re in Maui and it’s not even 9 o’clock yet and you’re in bed.”

Harry laughs, eyes still closed. “I’m so tired, baby.”

“I don’t care. We have, like, less than 36 more hours here and I’m not spending it locked up in this hotel room with you.”

He opens his eyes and sits up. “Are you trying to convince me you’re not tired, too, and the idea of sleeping in this California king sized bed next to me all night isn’t appealing in the  _ slightest _ ?”

Louis taps his foot impatiently. “You play dirty, Styles.”

He smirks. “C’mon.” He reaches for Louis hands, linking their fingers together. “Just a little nap and then we can go get dinner.”

He yanks his hands away and walks toward the door. “Get up,” he repeats. “We’re getting dinner and drinks at that place downtown on the water and  _ then _ you can be comatose. We can’t waste our time here. Harry.” He makes a face and Harry knows he’s trying to pretend he’s pissed but that look is so disgustingly endearing that Harry has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from saying anything that will embarrass himself. “You brought me to Maui.”

He sighs, happy, so, so happy. “I did, didn’t I?”

Louis smile is absurd. “You brought me to Maui.”

Harry climbs off the bed and saunters over to Louis. “I know. Planned the whole thing by myself and everything.” He grabs Louis’ hands and traces his thumbs on the inside of his wrists. “Happy anniversary.”

Louis looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. “One year together. Can’t believe…” He makes the same face from before and Harry squeezes Louis’ hands. “Can’t believe it’s only been one year. Feels like I’ve been stuck with you for  _ way _ longer.”

He barks out a laugh. “Feels that way because you’ve been sickeningly in love with me your entire life.”

He pushes up on his toes and kisses Harry on the cheek. “I’m not sure that’s how the story goes,” he says when he pulls back.

Harry can tell he's smiling like an idiot. “Oh, right. That was  _ me. _ ”

“ _ There _ we go.”

Harry bends down slightly to kiss Louis, both of them still smiling, and he wants to tell Louis so many things: how the sight of him still gets his heartrate going, how much he loves how Louis smells and tastes, how his favorites days aren’t the ones spent in paradise, but rather, back home in Pennsylvania with Link and Mia and their friends and life and memories because with Louis, regular life feels a bit like paradise, too.

He can’t manage to get any of those words out, though, because kissing Louis is always too good to give up, so he kisses him until it’s too much and Louis has to pull away, bottom lip swollen. Louis leans forward and puts his head on Harry’s chest, hands gripping Harry’s waist, murmuring out, “Love you.”

Harry is still so tired - can’t understand how Louis isn’t giving into the idea of sleep - but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when he has Louis warm under his touch. “Love you, too.”

“Good. Now let’s change and get the fuck out of this room. I want rum in a coconut.”

He laughs again, running his thumb over Louis’ collarbone. “Okay, fine. Rum in a coconut it is.”  
  
  
  
It takes Harry about three minutes to change into a clean outfit, and he’s sitting impatiently by the door for his slower than life boyfriend to finish getting ready, about two breaths away from deep sleep, when he _finally_ emerges from the bathroom. Harry is about to disown him for taking nearly half an hour to put on new pants, but then he looks up. He feels like he can’t swallow.

Louis is beautiful, always. It’s not an argumentative statement. He is beautiful, inside and out, and Harry gets to  _ keep _ him. They belong to each other and he doesn’t always know how to process that information, that Louis is so beautiful and they’re finally on the same page. It makes his chest hurt.

He sometimes feels guilty for how overwhelmingly attracted to Louis he is, like it makes him a horrible person for wanting to touch him and taste him and just  _ look _ at him all the Goddamn time. But Christ. He obviously spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready to impress - like Harry actually  _ needs _ to be impressed at this point in time - but it’s working. Harry can’t find adequate words to describe how gorgeous his boy looks. Always looks, really, but right now?

“Unfair.”

Louis slips on his shoes and looks up. “Excuse me?”

“Baby, you’re not giving the rest of us a chance when you look like that.”

Louis rolls his eyes but Harry can tell he’s pleased. “You like?”

He nods fiercely. “Where did you even get that shirt?” It’s v-neck and navy and tight and probably too warm for the island but fuck the island.

He looks down, as if he’s already forgotten what he’s wearing. “Bought it for the trip.”

Harry gets up from out of his chair. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. You ready?”  
  
“No, like, positively stunning.”

“Okay, Styles, that’s enough.”

“We don’t need to eat. Just wanna stay here and stare at you.”

Louis laughs, walking over to Harry and shoving him on the chest. “I could barf listening to you.”

Harry smiles. “I love a nice compliment in return, thanks, baby.”

He rolls his eyes again. “You know you always look hot, I don’t need to remind you. We don’t need your head getting any bigger. Now let’s  _ go. _ ” He turns on his heel to head out the door, but pauses before he reaches for the door handle. “It’s our anniversary dinner. I wanted to look nice for you,” he forces out, back still turned to Harry.

Harry can see that Louis is blushing, the pink rising up the back of his neck and Harry wants to get his mouth on him. He’ll save that, though. He walks over and grabs Louis’ hand, instead. “This has been the best year of my entire life, Lou.”

Louis squeezes his hand. “Mine, too.” His voice is raw with honesty, and Harry loves him so very much.  
  


* * *

  
They make their way to the downtown restaurant after just a bit more pleading and a bribe from Louis, telling Harry that if he goes out for dinner and drinks tonight, he won’t wake him up first thing in the morning to explore some more before they have to start packing up and saying goodbye to their island.

Harry doesn’t really believe him, but whatever.

The restaurant is a little cheesy, as expected, with palm trees and flowers lining the entirety of the building and twinkling lights draped from the ceiling that lead to the glass doors, wide open and airy, giving a spectacular view of the open deck outside.

Okay, maybe it isn’t so cheesy.

They take a seat on the deck, ordering drinks - rum in a coconut, thank you very much - the moment their waitress arrives, and even though it’s nearly completely dark on the beach, Harry can’t stop staring at the view.

Louis must have the same thoughts, because he murmurs out, “Can’t believe how gorgeous this place is.”

“I know.” Harry takes a sip of his drink. “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Let’s move here.”

“I’m sure Liam would be thrilled to have to adopt our fur babies.”

“Oh, shit, our kids, they’re still at home, aren’t they?” He shrugs, pondering. “Liam can ship them out here.”

“Good plan. Me and you and Link and Mia will be so happy here.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The waitress comes back over and takes their order; they both splurge on lobster and order another round of drinks, sunburned and sore, tipsy and happy.

They wrap up dinner and sign the check around 11 o’clock, and Harry is beyond ready to call it a night when Louis says, “Okay, let’s go downstairs. I saw a sign that says they have a live band playing. We can get drinks and stuff.”

Harry groans. His head is pounding and the only thing he wants to do is crawl into bed and wrap his arms around his boy. “ _ Lou. _ I would prefer ‘and stuff’ to be a 10-hour nap.”

“When did you turn into such a fucking grandpa? We’re on  _ vacation, _ Harry.” He taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms, the look he’s giving completely and utterly sour, and Harry knows he’s lost.

Ugh. “You’re right.”

“I know.”

“Will you let me sleep on the plane home? It’s, like, a 12 hour flight.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They make their way downstairs into the restaurant’s basement, which has been transformed into, well, a dive bar. It looks like a place they would frequent in Philly, not a place they would waste their time with in Hawaii. There aren’t too many patrons, no more than 30 or so tourists who all seem to be in their mid-50’s, and the band is covering something he recognizes from his mom’s car from when he was a kid. He gives Louis a look that says  _ Is this really worth it? _ and as if Louis can read his mind, he says, “We’ll feel right at home. Want me to grab your usual?”

Harry sighs and nods, climbing onto a bar stool and pulling another close to him to save for Louis. He looks around and can’t help but smile when he sees the other vacationers, laughing and dancing on the small, wooden dance floor just in front of the band. It’s the kind of bar his parents would enjoy together, he thinks.

Louis saunters back over, a tray in hand. “Here, babe.”

“What the fuck is this.”

“These are  _ drinks, _ ” Louis explains as if Harry is the dumbest human in the world.

“No, I know what drinks are, Jesus. Why do we have so many?!”

“ _ Because _ it’s our last full night in Maui! You used to be the fun one. What happened?”

Harry frowns. “There is no reason for us to be throwing back five shots and three mixed drinks. Each.”

“Okay.”

He perks up. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll just go drink with that guy over there, instead.” Louis gestures to the man in the corner by the bathroom who is staring at Louis intently. “He seems to be up for a good time.”

“Oh my God, no.” Harry quickly reaches for a shot glass. “Bottoms up.”

Louis smirks. “Bottoms up.”  
  
  
  
“Hey, remember that time you basically threatened me into drinking with you and now I’m so ducking frunk I can’t even stand up?”

Louis blinks, his movements slow. “Yeah, because that was two hours ago.” He hiccups. “Wait, did you just say ‘ducking frunk’?”

Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing. “No.”

“Yeah huh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Are you 12?”

Harry smiles and nearly goes dizzy when he feels Louis stick his pinky finger into his dimple. “Probably.”

“Creep.” Louis stands up off his stool and stretches, legs wobbling a bit. He grabs Harry’s thighs for support. “‘m gonna get some more drinks.”

“Lou.”

“I’ll get some water, too, Dad, don’t worry.” With his hands still on his thighs, he squeezes and smiles before he takes off toward the bar.

Harry watches him go and sucks in his cheeks, closing his eyes. It might be the haze of the alcohol, but he swears he can still feel Louis’ touch lingering on him.

Oh, wait. Those are  _ actually _ Louis’ hands. He’s back and touching him again and Harry is  _ way _ drunker than he thought. So drunk, in fact, that he doesn’t think twice before he shrugs out of Louis’ grip and stands up, heading toward a group of older women, all posing for a picture and hollering loudly. He pokes his head in between two of the blondes just as the man with the camera takes the photo. One shrieks when she feels Harry’s head against her own, laughing hysterically - too hysterically, probably - when she realizes his intentions.

“Did you just photobomb our group photo?!”

Harry smiles, wondering who taught her that term. “I think I may have.”

“Aww, honey, are you here alone?” the second blonde croons.

“No, actually.” He turns around and points to Louis, who has a dopey grin on his face and he waggles his fingers. “‘m with my Louis.”

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.” Can't ever get enough of saying that.

The woman  _ aww _ ’s again and Harry laughs, tucking his hair behind his ear. He’s about to tell her to have a good night, that he needs to get back to his boy before he topples over, when  _ Man! I Feel like a Woman! _ comes on. She puts her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Ah! I love this song!” she slurs.

“I think my sister and I used to dance to this song when we were little.” He pauses. “Yup, we totally had a routine for this.”

She smiles and clasps her hands together. “Oh! Come dance with me! Would your boyfriend mind if I stole you for a little bit?”

He looks over at Louis who is clearly very aware of their conversation, based on the way he’s laughing so hard, his eyes are doing that crinkly thing that makes Harry weak in the knees.  _ That _ can’t be blamed on the alcohol. “No, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“Excellent!” She grabs his hand and starts to drag him to the dance floor.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Linda.”

They pass by Louis on their way to the front of the room and as Louis yells out, “ _ So _ glad you finally decided to stop being so fucking boring! Don’t embarrass me out there!” Harry slaps him on the ass. Hard. Hard enough for it to jiggle beneath his hand, but not hard enough for Louis to be actually mad about it. The perfect amount.

“Linda, you heard my boy. Don’t let me embarrass myself,” he warns, even though he plans to do exactly the opposite. That’s what Louis gets for forcing him to have fun on his vacation when all he wants to do is take a nap.

Wow. He really  _ is _ a grandpa.

Linda laughs, holding out her hand for him to take. “I’ll try not to.”

Harry twirls Linda under his arm then dips her low, a move not really in sync at  _ all _ with this particular song, but it’s okay. She’s laughing still, Louis is nearly snorting from his barstool across the room, and Harry is too drunk to care.

The lead singer of the band croons out, “I only want to have a good time,” and Harry takes a deep breath, ready.

“The best thing about being a woman,” he cheers out, clapping and swinging Linda around again, “is the prerogative to have a little fun!”

“Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m a lady!” the entire bar chants, and Harry just barely catches Louis covering his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with how hard he’s laughing.

“Men’s shirts, short skirts!”

“Color my hair, do what I dare!”

“ _ Man, _ I feel like a woman!”

He stomps his feet along to the music, clapping his hands together loudly, yelling out the words, and Christ, he remembers  _ every single line. _

The song is shorter than Harry remembers it to be - thank God - and he is actually dripping with sweat by the time it’s over. He kisses Linda on the back of the hand, thanking her for a lovely time. “I have to get back to my boy now,” he says.

“No, thank  _ you, _ ” she replies, cheeks blotchy, clearly just as drunk as everyone else in the room. “Enjoy your time with your boyfriend. You two seem very sweet.”

Harry smiles. “Well, one of us is. And I will.” He makes his way back to Louis, who now has his head on the bar top. “Did you miss me?”

“Oh my  _ God, _ I can’t believe what I just watched,” he says, voice muffled into his arms. “That was a new level of drunk Harry that I couldn’t have dreamed up even if I tried to.”

He sits back down and puts his hand on Louis’ knee, drawing circles with his thumb. “But I didn’t embarrass you, right?”

Louis lifts his head up. “You fucking win. We are never going out in public again. How is it possible that you know every single word to a Shania Twain song?!”

“Gemma and I may or may not have had a dance routine to that when we were younger.”

He nearly screams he laughs so hard. “Please tell me you remember the exact routine.”

“It’s all flooding back to me, unfortunately.”

Still laughing, Louis reaches for his nearly empty glass and takes a sip through the straw. He looks up at Harry, expression suddenly shy, and says, “Save it for our wedding. Let’s see who else you can embarrass.”

Harry freezes. Even as drunk as he is, he  _ knows _ Louis has never once mentioned the topic of marriage to him. It’s not necessarily a taboo topic; rather, Harry wanted to wait for Louis to breach the subject. But now that it’s been mentioned, Harry can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t do anything other than grip Louis’ knee even tighter.

“Do we have a wedding planned that I don’t know about, baby?” he asks.

Louis drains the last of his rum and Coke. “Surprise.”

Harry smiles and tries to keep his hand as steady as possible, knowing Louis will be able to pick up on his tremors. “Have you really been thinking about that? Marriage?” His voice sounds higher pitched than usual, and if Louis notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“I have been.”

“Are you gonna tell me?”

Louis leans forward on his stool, almost falling off, grabbing for Harry’s waist to hang onto. “You’re gonna look so nice in a tux. And I’m gonna make you cry when I say my vows. I’ve been thinking of them. They’re all up  _ here, _ ” he says, tapping his temple. He clears his throat, then, and frowns, demeanor changing. “‘m scared to get married again, Harry. And I’m really torn about it.” He sounds so small - broken, almost - when he says it that Harry has to resist the urge to physically pick him up and hold him.

But he can understand that. He  _ does _ understand that. He stands up and brackets Louis’ body with his own, nearly pinning him up against the bar top, and cups Louis’ face in his hands. Louis’ eyes are wide and unblinking. “Hey. This isn’t… This is up to you, Louis. I will never push you into something you aren’t ready for or don’t want to do. You know that, right?”

Louis nods, then backtracks and shakes his head. “No, this isn’t a one-way street. This is you and me, making decisions together, and Christ, I love how you always put me first but this isn’t the kind of situation where that’s applicable and should we  _ really _ be having this conversation here, right now?”

Harry snorts. He leans his forehead up against Louis’ and stares at him until both of their gazes go cross eyed. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later.” He pulls back and kisses Louis’ jaw, once, twice, three times. “I just. Really fucking love you,” he murmurs against Louis’ skin. It’s stubbly and scratchy and it’s Harry’s favorite.

Louis shivers and pulls Harry impossibly close, working his way into Harry’s arms. Harry can feel him swallow. “Can’t stand how much I love you.”

He pulls back and studies Louis’ face. There’s some concern written on it, some fear, but mostly just love and happiness and drunkenness and  _ Louis _ and Harry has to take a deep, steadying breath before he leans in to kiss him.

Their lips slot together so slowly, so carefully, that it reminds Harry of their first kiss on Louis’ front porch after their first date one year ago, when he knew he was already in love with him and all the kiss did was reaffirm that. He remembers not being able to stop thinking about kissing him that entire night - couldn’t stop thinking about it for months, really - and nearly walked away before he gave it a chance, too afraid to fuck up their friendship, too afraid to make an ass out of himself, too afraid he’d built something up in his head that wasn’t really there. But he hadn’t built up anything. Kissing and touching Louis was and is  _ always _ something that makes his palms a little sweaty, his breathing pick up, his stomach drop. He felt that way the first time, the second time,  _ now. _ Pressing his drunk boyfriend up against a dirty bar in the basement of a restaurant at one in the morning is no exception; he’d feel drunk even if he hadn’t been throwing back shots for the better part of an hour. He gives it everything he has, trailing his hands anywhere and everywhere, desperate for Louis to be able to tell how fiercely he loves him just by the way he’s kissing him, by the way his jaw is moving, by the way his tongue dips. And it seems to be working based on the way Louis whimpers high in his throat and has to pull back a moment or two later, panting and lips red.

His eyes are still closed, eyelashes brushing along his cheekbone, when he asks, “Take me back? It’s finally time to go to sleep.”

Harry smiles and grabs for Louis’ hands. “Yeah, baby, let’s head back.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m tired, too, remember?”

Louis smiles lazily, lips still shiny. “No, just, thank you for. Like. Everything.”

Harry doesn’t need him to elaborate, even though it doesn’t make much sense.

He knows.  
  


* * *

  
Louis stayed true to his word and didn’t wake Harry up first thing in the morning. Harry wakes first and squints in the muted glow of the sun from behind the heavy curtains, rubbing his forehead. He’s had worse headaches, but that’s not really what’s bothering him.

_ Our wedding. _ It keeps ringing in his ears and he can’t get it to shut up.

Harry has spent so much time imagining what it would be like to be married to Louis - an embarrassing amount of time, probably - even though married life most likely won’t be too different than their current life together right now. They live together, they’re each other’s emergency contacts, they’re raising fur babies together… Maybe one day  _ real _ babies. Harry’s head spins with how badly he wants it, wants  _ everything _ with Louis.

Jesus. He wants to be able to introduce Louis as his husband, his spouse. He wants to combine their last names. He wants to propose to Louis  _ so hard, _ that Louis won’t be able to say no, and they’ll both cry so fucking much, damnit.

Is that too much to ask?

He’s been waiting to voice this out loud for so long, and now that it’s been brought up, Harry has to sit on his hands to keep from shaking Louis awake to talk about it some more, outside of a noisy bar and hopefully sober. However, there’s one tiny problem that’s making Harry’s stomach hurt: he’s not sure Louis remembers their conversation at the bar.

He seemed coherent enough at the time, but walking back to the resort was an entirely different story. He was laughing at  _ nothing _ the entire time, words slurring even worse than at the bar, and eventually, he sat down, refusing to move until Harry had to piggyback him home.

And when Harry had slid under the sheets beside him - fucking  _ finally _ \- he’d kissed the back of Louis’ hand and said, “Promise we’ll talk about that conversation at the bar tomorrow?” Louis had responded hazily with, “What conversation?” and then promptly fell asleep.

What if the entire thing was just drunken nonsense?

Fuck.

Harry sits up all the way, letting the sheets pool around his waist. He thinks about it for only a second more before he bends over and kisses Louis’ bare shoulder. “Lou.”

Nothing.

He kisses his neck instead, nudging him with his head. “Baby. Wake up.”

Louis groans. “Fuck off.”

He smirks and kisses his jaw. “I wanna talk to you.”

“That’s nice. I wanna kill  _ you, _ though.”

“Do you want me to order room service?”

“No, but I  _ do _ want you to jump off that cliff we hiked two days ago.”

“You mean… The volcano?”

“Exactly.”

Harry laughs. “Louis, seriously. Wake up.”

“What could be so important that you had to wake a sleeping bear. Honestly, you have a death wish.”

He lays back down and kisses Louis’ chest. “Always so pleasant first thing in the morning. I love you so much.”

Harry can’t see Louis’ face but he can tell he’s smiling. “Shut up.”

They’re both silent for a minute. Harry drags his finger along Louis’ bare stomach, tracing invisible lines, and Louis lets him, sighing. “Can’t believe it’s our last day today.”

Louis groans. “Don’t remind me. I don’t want to leave.”

“Totally sucks.”

They fall quiet again until Louis rolls over and burrows his head into Harry’s chest. “Okay, why’d you wake me up. What do you want to talk to me about?”

Harry swallows. He puts his hands in between Louis’ shoulder blades and squeezes. “Wanted to talk to you about last night.”

“What about last night?”

“Our, uh, our conversation. At the bar.”

“Oh. Yeah, we should definitely talk about that.”

Harry relaxes a bit, knowing Louis remembers. “Okay, good.”

“Is it, though? Is it good? I just can’t believe you know every single word to  _ Man! I Feel like a Woman _ and even have a damn routine to it and never once told me.”

He bursts out laughing. “ _ Louis! _ C’mon. Do you really not remember?”

Louis pushes his face in further into Harry’s chest. “I’m teasing. Of course I remember.”

“Are we gonna talk about it? For real? Because this is kind of, like, an important thing.”

“Nah, not really,” Louis says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Louis. I just need to make sure we’re on the same page, okay? Because in my head, one day, I’m marrying you, and I need to snap myself out of it if that’s not what you want. I could be happy without marrying you - I  _ am _ \- but if you truly don’t want to get married again and you know that, let me know. Preferably sooner than later.”

Louis sits up and looks down at Harry, brows furrowed. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again. This isn’t all up to me. We’re a team. This isn’t all about what  _ I _ want. It’s about what  _ we _ want.”

Harry nods, looking up at Louis. “Okay. What I want is to be with you forever, marriage certificate or not. End of story. But. If I’m being honest, I just think that’d be the icing on the cake.”

“Mmm. Cake.”

“Louis.”

“Sorry.” He laces their fingers together for a moment, squeezing, and then lets go. “You know how much I love you, right?”

Harry nods again. “I do, yeah.”

“This,” he says, gesturing between the two of them, “is something I am all in with. I am never going anywhere. But  _ I’m _ going to be honest and tell you I am so fucking terrified at the idea of marriage again, and it’s not because of you. If anything, knowing it’s with you makes it a little less scary. It’s just the concept of marriage in general.” He shrugs, and Harry isn't sure Louis is aware that he's rubbing his right pointer finger repeatedly over his left ring finger. “I don’t want to get married tomorrow, but. One day, I’ll be ready again. I’m positive of that. Just as long as you’ll have me and don’t mind waiting.” He pushes his hair back with his fingers and sighs. “I feel like all I ask you to do is wait. That’s pretty selfish, isn’t it. I dunno. It’s scary, H.”

Harry sits up to meet Louis’ gaze. “You are the most selfless person I know.” He puts his hand over Louis’ heart, dragging his fingers across his chest and letting them fall in Louis’ lap. “I don’t feel like it’s waiting, because I have you. You take whatever time you need and in the meantime, we’ll just carry on like we usually do. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Lou.”

“But it  _ is _ a big deal. It’s  _ marriage. _ ” Louis’ hands are starting to tremble and Harry needs to remedy that.

“Louis.” He grabs Louis’ hands in his own. “You and I are about as permanent as it gets. We don’t need a piece of paper to verify what we already know. You are the person I love most, more than anything, and even when I fucking hate you, which is often, I know you’re what I want forever.”

Louis laughs at that. “Sometimes I hate you, too.”

“Good, because we’re in a healthy, functioning relationship and if we  _ didn’t _ hate each other sometimes, I would say something has gone terribly wrong. You’re insufferable on occasion.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Harry smiles. “I know.” He lets go of Louis’ now steady hands and puts his on Louis’ thighs, instead. “You know what else I know?”

“Mmm. What.”

“I know that we’ll be together regardless of marriage or no marriage, and if it takes you a year or two or five or twenty or  _ never, _ that’ll be okay with me. Waiting to marry you isn’t a deal breaker. As long as I get to have you in the meantime. Just. Keep me posted, okay?”

Louis nods. “Christ, you’re always so patient with me.”

“I’m gonna add it to my resume.”

He snorts. “Probably should.” He stares at Harry’s face, eyes steady. “ I know how much you want to marry me. I want to marry you just as much, if not more. Just. It’ll happen, one day. Just not today. Really.”

“Are you sure? You’d really wanna get married again?”

Louis smiles. “I never thought I’d want to. But then again, I never thought I’d end up with  _ you, _ either. You kind of changed my entire world, Harry."

Harry can’t not kiss him, has to, so he does, slowly, gently, only pulling back when he has too many words in his mind threatening to spill out. “Can’t believe you’re gonna let me marry you.”

“I really am.” His eyes go wide. “Wait, no, I’m not.”

Harry drags his hands over his face. “How could you have changed your mind so quickly?!”

“Because that was the  _ worst _ proposal ever!”

“But I didn’t propose?”

“You basically just did! You just didn’t use the actual words, ‘Will you marry me?’”

“Oh, okay. Louis, will you marry me?”

“No! Fuck you! Still an awful proposal!”

Harry bursts out laughing. “Louis, I promise. My proposal will kick ass.”

“Hold on. Why do  _ you _ get to propose? Why don’t I get to?”

“Because you already did once. It’s my turn now.”

Louis pouts. “What if I have some incredible proposal idea, though?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He pauses. “No.”

“Awesome, problem solved. I’m proposing sometime in the future, you’re gonna say yes, I’m gonna put a ring on it, and I’ll do my Shania Twain dance at our reception. Does that work for you?”

Louis pretends to think about it. “Kind of just took all the element of surprise out of it, but yeah, I guess that works.”

“Good.” Harry knocks Louis down onto his back and straddles him, pinning his hands above his head. “One day we’re gonna be married and you’re gonna be my husband and you’re stuck with me forever. For real.”

Louis squirms underneath him, lifting his hips up. “Does that do something for you?”

Harry swallows. “Fuck. It really does.” He bends down to kiss Louis, a real kiss, tongues instantly meeting and breath mingling. Louis shakes his hands free from Harry’s grip and cards them into Harry’s hair, digging his nails in.

He continues to grind down, feeling Louis start to get hard underneath him, keeps kissing him, keeps touching him, and Louis always reacts the same, acts like Harry is the greatest thing to have ever happened to him, like he’s the luckiest.

Harry knows what that feels like.

Arousal pumps through his body, still can’t believe after a year together that he could still want someone else so badly all the Goddamn time, and he grinds down particularly hard. Louis hisses and spreads his legs, giving Harry more room, and Harry knows for a fact that Louis likes it a little rough. He’s always careful with him, but never too gentle, and that  _ always _ spurs Louis on. With that in mind, he bends down and bites at his bare shoulder, rough and a little primal, soothing it with his tongue after, hips still moving aimlessly. Louis grips onto Harry harder, breath starting to turn into heavy panting.

Harry sits up on his knees, still straddling Louis, and pulls of Louis’ boxers. He’s hard and trembling and so unbearably attractive that Harry’s own movements stutter.

“Won’t ever get tired of this,” he says, starting to jerk Louis slowly.

Louis arches into it. “What, teasing me until I want to kick you in the throat?”

He smirks. “No. Seeing you like this. Love that you want me.”

He nods, not in the mood to joke. “Do want you.” He swallows, head lolling to the side. “Want you all the time. C’mon.”

Morning Louis is undoubtedly Harry’s favorite version of Louis, and that says a  _ lot. _ He’s seen every version: tired, sad, happy, energetic, shocked, nervous, stupid, moody, crazy, drunk, pissed off, heartbroken, joker, turned on, scared, playful, coy, in love. He’s seen every combination, every switch, but  _ none _ of those versions hold a candle to Morning Louis. He’s vulnerable first thing in the morning, open, honest, and always a little shy. It does things to Harry’s heart and head that he’s the only one that gets this version of Louis, and he doesn’t have to share it. He’s the only one that Louis trusts to see him like this and every time he thinks about it, he nearly loses his mind.

Harry’s eyes travel across Louis’ body, tense and lean. “How many times can I tell you that you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever known before it gets redundant?”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. “You probably hit your limit at sometime last year.”

He jerks him a little rougher and Louis groans. “Not gonna ever stop saying it.”

“You know -  _ ah _ \- you know what it does to my ego.”

“You’re sexy. So fucking sexy, it’s unfair.”

“Ego is growing,” he forces out through gritted teeth.

“Baby.” Harry bends down to kiss his stomach, still avoiding his cock with his mouth. Louis whimpers. “Baby, you drive me crazy.”

“Feeling is mutual, Harry, fuck, I need…”

Harry takes him down all the way, then, feeling Louis’ cock his the back of his throat, and the breath is punched out of Louis. He works over him slowly, taking his time, twisting his hand at the base the way he knows Louis loves best, urging Louis to lose control. And he does. He stops trying to hold back his moans, stops forcing his hips to stay glued to the mattress, stops focusing on his breathing. He grips at Harry’s hair, pushing back his curls.

“Always make me feel so fucking good, fuck.” He hisses again and cants his hips upward. “Want your fingers.”

Harry pulls off, tongue still working at the head, and Louis moans again. “Want me to fuck you?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, yeah, need you to.”

He reaches for the lube on the nightstand, flipping the cap open and covering his fingers. He reaches down and slides his first finger in, taking Louis all the way back down again. He can hardly hear Louis over the rushing in his own ears, the pounding in his chest. He  _ does _ hear him, though, when he pushes in the second finger without warning, immediately searching for his prostate and pushing up against it just right. He knows it’s probably too much too quickly but Louis clenches down around him, nearly wailing and gripping at Harry’s hair even tighter.

“Harry,” he pants out, exhaling sharply through his nose, “so good. Need. Need more,” he chokes.

Harry doesn’t ask if it's okay before he slides in a third finger, spreading them out, and even then, Louis is still so tight and warm around his fingers; he’s gonna be tight and warm around his cock in about two minutes, and Harry will  _ never _ get over how good that first thrust feels. He moans around Louis’ cock just thinking about it, his own cock hard and aching.

He thinks Louis is ready - knows, actually - and pulls off of Louis entirely, pulls his fingers out, reaching for more lube. He stares at Louis as he slicks himself up, not bothering with a condom, and can’t help it when he has to bend down to kiss him again, Louis surging up to meet him. Louis whines into his mouth, a little biting, a lot hot, and he falls back when his arms give out.

“I lied,” Louis says, draping his arm over his eyes. “I’m not gonna marry you. I’m gonna find someone who doesn’t have the goal to  _ kill _ me every time he wants to stick his dick in me.”

Harry laughs, biting at his own bottom lip, pulling Louis’ arm away from his face. “Can’t take it back now. You’re gonna marry me one day and I’m gonna make you cry every time I fuck you.”

“I do  _ not _ cry.” He clears his throat. “Not every time, anyway.”

“Love when you cry.”

“Ugh, shut up.” He grips at Harry’s back, scratching. “I miss having sex with regular humans who didn’t make me feel like I’m going to come apart from the inside out, Jesus Christ. It’s not even normal.”

He laughs again and hovers over Louis, kissing him on the jaw. He starts to push in, excruciatingly slowly, and it’s hard for himself to go so slow but it’s worth it for Louis’ reactions. He’s trembling, his entire body shaking, and he immediately clings onto Harry, as if Harry would ever pull away. Once he’s all the way inside, he grits out, “Love when you talk about sex with people people when I’m fucking you. So much for having my  _ own _ ego.”

Louis tips his head back, eyes closed, and he’s so, so beautiful. He clenches down, trying to bode Harry into start moving, and it works. “Your ego is big enough,” he pants out. “We’ve been over this.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to hear something actually nice once in a while.” He thrusts deeper and he knows he hits Louis’ prostate dead on by the way Louis’ entire body tenses and shakes.

“Something nice?” He leans up and sucks a bruise into Harry’s neck, thrusting his hips in time with Harry’s punches. “Love the way you fuck me, love the way you can’t stop staring at me all the Goddamn time, love that you get off on getting me off.”

Harry smirks into Louis’ neck, because he’s right. “Anything else, baby?”

Louis’ breath is hot on his face. “Christ, you tell me  _ I’m  _ gorgeous, but look at you.  _ Ah, _ fuck, right there, Harry, can’t.”

He doesn’t ask what the rest of his sentence is, just nods, because he’s sure it was something along the lines of  _ keep going. _ He doesn’t change up his angle, keeps thrusting into Louis until Louis’ words stop making sense all together, only whines and moans slipping out of his mouth. And Harry can tell he’s close based on the way his legs keep tightening around his waist, going slack, then tightening again. Harry’s close, too, can’t not be when he has Louis underneath him, whimpering and slick around him. The white hot heat in his belly is spreading and he can’t hold back much longer.

He picks up the pace, just a little bit, and laces his fingers through Louis’. “I’m in love with you."

Louis doesn’t answer, just burrows his face into Harry’s chest, both hot and sticky with sweat. “Harry…”

“I do. I love you and I’m crazy about you and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to show you exactly what you mean to me.” He pushes in  _ hard _ and murmurs, “But I’m gonna try.”

Louis cries out and comes, clenching involuntarily around Harry’s cock, making it almost impossible for Harry to keep moving. He only needs six more thrusts, though, before he’s coming, too, a firecracker throughout his body. It’s so intense, he almost wishes it would stop, hanging onto Louis tightly, and he collapses on top of Louis when it’s over, completely spent.

Louis moves first, sitting up and kissing Harry languidly but still full of fire. Harry reaches his hand up to tangle his fingers in Louis’ damp hair, tasting Louis, sighing into his mouth. It’s familiar at this point, but it never gets old.

He breaks the kiss and sits up, tucking his hair behind his ear and smiles. “Hey, Harry,” he whispers.

“Baby.”

“Did I thank you for bringing us here?”

“Only, like, 50 times.”

“Okay, here’s the 51st time. Thank you for bringing us here.”

“We should come back.”

“We should.” He lays back down and slides in so close to Harry that he can feel Louis’ heart beating against his chest. “I love you, too.”

They have flaws. Oh boy, do they have flaws. They aren’t perfect, separately or together, and they’ll always have things to work through. Some days are pure magic, and some days are absolutely dreadful, but it’s  _ always _ worth it. There is no one else Harry wants to walk through life with. He is absolutely positive of that, not a single doubt in his mind.

He pulls Louis impossibly closer and kisses his temple. Louis sighs and Christ, he is so happy.

Harry may be Louis’ trip to Maui, but he’s thinking that Louis is  _ his _ trip, too.

And  _ that _ will be going in the vows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Based off of this ask that I couldn't seem to get out of my mind, and then I totally got carried away, as per usual!](http://cherrystreet.tumblr.com/post/145752437662/you-are-so-incredibly-talented-i-read-all-the)


End file.
